


Even as i wander i'm keeping you in sight

by wonthetrade



Series: my head's not bowed [7]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Angst, F/M, Girl Brigade, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-15 04:21:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7207622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonthetrade/pseuds/wonthetrade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a year, Tyler finds her place on the Stars, her role with the women and along the way, herself. </p><p>Oh, and maybe, just maybe, she'll get Jamie too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Even as i wander i'm keeping you in sight

**Author's Note:**

> As always, if you got here by googling yourself or someone you know, you'll thank us when you hit the little 'x' button right now.

“I don’t understand how you can pack for a two week road trip in a duffle, but you’re taking what looks like your entire closet to Nashville.”

Tyler huffs from the inside of said closet, hands on her hips as she eyes her collection of dresses. Really, she has no idea why Jamie’s watching her pack. She’s not the only one going to the All Star Game this year.

The All Star Game. Her third - technically, second as a Star - and her first official one with Jamie. Tyler’s maybe a little more excited under the circumstances.

“Road trips are easy,” Tyler answers, shoving a few hangars apart. “A couple of professional dresses that can double as victory outfits, my sensible heels and a pair of fuck me heels.”

Jamie makes a sound like she’s shoved him into the boards a little harder than he’d been anticipating. Tyler rolls her eyes before she lets herself get caught up in the fantasy of Jamie wanting to actually fuck her in one of those sets of heels. It’s something she’s kind of used to now, after being in love with him for almost two years. Not in the love-at-first sight way that some of the other NHL women have experienced, but from the day she’d met Jamie there’s been a sort of inevitability to her feelings. He’d been the first player she’d met after her trade, a captain’s duty that he’d discharged with a bashful smile and not a single mention of how he expected her to ‘do better’, that she needed to stop being a scandal and be a hockey player.

So, the fact that she loves him now, two years later, is a shock to no one and definitely a far cry from a secret and if these moments, these milestones, mean more with Jamie… she knows no one’s going to call her out on it.

“This is the All Star Game, Jamie Benn. Some flamboyance is called for.”

“You can’t decide on anything,” Jamie argues. “It’s like four days!”

“Four days with most of the women in the NHL there,” Tyler points out, tossing two dresses in the general direction of her suitcase, because why the hell not. She can decide in Nashville. “You and I both know Sid isn’t even sure what a dress is and we will _shine,_ fuck you.”

“How many dresses are you even packing?”

Tyler shrugs and turns back to find him on his knees pawing through the mess that is said suitcase. Her big suitcase too, the kind she takes for two weeks in Europe. “I have standards to uphold.”

“As the most indecisive woman in the NHL? I know I’m dragging Jordie along for the ride but I think she’s taking her road trip duffle. You can’t commit to three dresses for three days!”

“Oh am I _committed_ ,” Tyler answers, turning back to her closet and shrugging off the minor sting. It shouldn’t bother her; the way he scoffs at the idea of her committing to anything that isn’t hockey. She knows she’s not flighty and she knows he’s aware of that too. Indecisive sometimes, sure, but not flighty. “I am seriously committed to fashion and making a statement.”

“What kind of statement? ‘Saks threw up in my suitcase?’”

Tyler throws a dress at his head, grinning when he flails and gets his arms caught in the fabric. “It’s not just for me, idiot. I’m packing enough for other people to wear in case there isn’t enough time to go out shopping.”

“You’re dressing other people, now?”

“Did it to you, didn’t I, before you got the hang of it,” she replies and damn is she proud of that one. Jamie looks smoking hot in a good suit. “Look, we’re all going to look fucking amazing, that’s just how it is.” She steps over to pat his cheek condescendingly. “Try to keep up.”

Really, Tyler just _lives_ for moments like these. She loves her Stars, she genuinely does. Sharpy and Spezza, Demers and Roussel, Lindy too, but none of them can hold a candle to how it feels to be surrounded by the women of the NHL. So yes, Tyler is going to overpack her suitcase with dresses none of them will so much as try on, let alone wear, because she can. Because she’s an All Star and she gets to play crazy-amazing hockey with her best friends.

“You always look good,” she hears him say as she shoves aside a couple of dull grey dresses. “Where’s your victory green?”

Tyler hides her reflexive grin out of habit. It still gives her warm fuzzy feelings when someone comments on how much green she wears now. She genuinely likes green as a general thought, but she can’t deny that the last two years have upped its value. “It’s the All Star Game,” she replies. “Victory green is for our team.”

“You’re representing our team,” Jamie responds and when she looks over her shoulder, he has a look in his eyes that’s almost possessive. She stomps down on the hope that springs in her chest. He’s been like this since her arrival in Dallas, his implied promise that this would be better, that they’d show the world what she could do on the ice and somehow, that would trump the so-called trouble she gets up to off of it. “We’re going to do it, you know,” he’d said to her over a beer on her balcony. “We’re going to get the Cup and no matter what everyone says, you’re going to be a big part of that.”

It’s not because he wants her. Not in the forever way she wants him to, and not enough to even let her try and prove that they’re different (amazing) together.

“What if we don’t win,” she says instead, goes pawing through her dresses regardless. There’s a Stars t-shirt already packed, victory green like he wants, but not the victory green he’s talking about.

“It’s not about winning,” he says and Tyler bites the inside of her cheek when he presses his palm against her lower back. “It’s about being there as a Star, where you belong.”

 _It’s about saying fuck you to the people who thought you couldn’t do this_ , is what he doesn’t say, but Tyler’s been hearing it from him for two years now, explicitly and implicitly. She works very hard to remind herself that it’s a team thing, believing in players, not a singular faith he’s placed in her alone. Jamie believes wholeheartedly in teamwork.

She gives him a brilliant smile. This, at least, she can say honestly. “Glad you’re going to be there with me.” Because yeah she’s got the women, but Jamie’s kind of a bonus.

His smile is shy but warm and does all sorts of things to her insides. “Me too.”

 

To most, Tyler knows, the All Star Game is a gimmick, something the league puts on to showcase and make an extra buck (or million). To Tyler, the All Star Game and her election to it, is the most golden of opportunities to spend some quality time with her favourite women.

They’ve come out in droves this year and it makes Tyler frankly delirious. Aside from the ones invited - her, Sid, Dani, Marcia, Carey, Steph as a last-minute injury replacement, and Jack for the rookie pool - there’s also Jordie and Mal, who’ve been dragged to the event by their respective brothers. So she might be a little overzealous about all the girly bonding activities she has planned, but really, who can blame her?

That isn’t to say that there aren’t events planned and scheduled. It’s a league freaking event, they’re all almost scheduled to do more than there is time. Tyler’s seen the whole thing turn even the most stoic of stars into a show pony, so she makes the best of the autograph and mini-junket sessions (because her middle name is “fun” thank you very much).

The photobooth is, in a word, amazing. They corral the women and cram them all in, tight as sardines, and Tyler laughs, loud and bright and joyful.

“This is a nightmare,” Sid mutters, and while half an hour of photo sessions would probably be torture for pretty much anyone, it’s worse for Sid.

Steph pokes her head out the curtain to look at the waiting line. “I doubt you’ll think so in a few minutes, Sid,” she says with a grin. “It looks like the line is mostly little girls.”

Sid brightens. “Oh, well that’s okay then.”

Most of the girls gravitate towards Sid, which just makes sense, but they all get their share of fans, most of whom had been at the autograph sessions earlier. Tyler gets a kick out of seeing their faces light up when she remembers their names and crouches down to throw an arm around them for the picture.

“Hey, you big shots got time for a photo with us?” Jordie and Mal are grinning at them from the line. Excited whispers break out all around them as others recognize them.

“Why are you even standing there, get over here!” Dani scolds, making room between her and Sid. Mal beams brightly and squeezes into the spot, while Jordie makes her way over to Marcia and Steph.

There’s a few flashes and posed shots before Tyler yells, “Goofy pic!” And promptly jumps on Jack’s back.

This, she thinks, as she clings despite the elbow Jack jams into her kidney, is one hundred percent what makes cancelling her originally-planned trip to Cabo entirely worth it.

Steph is immediately onboard for getting everyone together for glamming up before the draft. Between the two of them they get everyone to agree, even Sid, which is a vast improvement over last year. Tyler thinks it’s Steph and her Bambi eyes because no one seems to be able to say no to her. Handy, seeing as she needs to convince Sid to wear a dress, let Carey do her hair, and wear makeup.

Luckily, her web of conspirators stretches to Pittsburgh, too. Sid enters Carey and Tyler’s room, holding a hangar and frowning at the dress like she expects it to bite her. “I don’t know how Flower got this in my suitcase,” she mumbles.

“Vero picked it out, and you wouldn’t want to disappoint Vero, now would you?” Marcia asks, flopping onto Carey’s bed. “A fauxhawk braid would look fantastic with it, Carey.”

“I can do that,” Carey agrees, maneuvering Sid onto the floor before she can even protest. “It’s just to see how it works, all right Sid?” Her tone is so mild and reasonable that Tyler has to bite down hard on her lip to keep from laughing.

At the same time, Mal steers Jack out of the bathroom and proudly proclaims, “I’ve tamed the beast!”

“Gee thanks,” Jack grumbles, but there’s no heat to it. Her hair looks like something out of a shampoo commercial, all the curls glossy and defined with no frizz to be seen. Marcia immediately _oooohs_ and buries her hands in it because Marcia has no boundaries. Jack looks mildly frightened, which is a perfectly reasonable reaction.

“Bring her here,” Tyler commands. “I have makeup to put on her.”

Dani is the last to appear, her eyebrows arching upwards as she takes in the sights, from Steph painting Jordie’s nails to Mal and Marcia discussing possible hairstyles. “Well, this looks nice,” she comments. She’s already dressed in some avant garde thing that looks like armor and has Tyler positively drooling because Dani’s taste is fucking exquisite. “Move over a little bit, Segs, I need to use the mirror too.”

“Dani-” Sid begins.

“You look lovely Sid, let Carey do her job.” Her tone allows no argument, and Tyler is amazed at how between the two of them, Carey and Dani have completely wrangled Sid. Tyler usually has to do a lot of whining to get Sid to give in. Sid subsides, grumbling. Tyler grins, then turns to go through the contents of Dani’s makeup bag because she _always_ wants to know what’s in other people’s makeup bags.

 

Jamie might’ve given her crap for all the dresses and makeup she brought to Nashville, but Tyler considers herself vindicated when they go backstage and there are more than a few double-takes and appreciative whistles. Geno looks like someone’s clubbed him in the head every time he looks at Sid and it really doesn’t take a genius to figure out the glances McDavid keeps sneaking Jack’s way. Or the way that Jack keeps looking anywhere _but_ his direction.

Rookies. Tyler has half a mind to lock them in a closet or something.

The NHL people sweep Sid and Dani away with the other captains and co-captains for draft stuff, leaving the rest of the women to find a table and get the requisite cups of shitty beer. Except for the rookies, because there’s some intern making sure they only get cups of water.

“You look nice,” a warm voice says in her ear, and she cranes her neck back around to grin at Jamie behind her.

“Please, I always look nice,” she preens, ignoring Jack’s audible snort as well as her blatant stealing of Tyler’s beer. She motions around the room. “Remind you of when we first met?”

The look in his eyes is impossibly fond. “How could I forget? Two terrified rookies at the All-Star Game-”

“ _Meet-cute_ ,” Marcia coughs into her hand. Tyler kicks her hard, pasting an innocent look on her face when Jamie glances at them quizzically.

“Um...think we’ll be on the same team again?” he asks.

Tyler winks. “I’ve already put in a good word for you with the captain. Now shoo, leave us to ourselves, will ya?” He makes a wounded face then completely ruins it with one of his dumb little laughs. Luckily, Hall is already waving him over.

Marcia is rubbing her shin with a rueful smile. “Dammit Segs, that hurt!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she says loftily.

The redhead just rolls her eyes. “You are so lucky we’re going to be on the same team.”

“Who do you think Sid is picking for the events?” Steph asks. “I don’t think anyone’s going to be able to top Webs for hardest shot.”

“As long as I’m not up for fastest skater. I’m still nursing those wounds,” Tyler pouts, and just shakes her head at Jack when she goes for her beer again. They’re definitely going to get their party on later, she decides.

Except later never comes, because Sid puts Jack in the breakaway challenge and Jack decides her time is better spent learning how to lasso PK up, cowboy-style. Jack also ignores all of Tyler’s emoji-filled text messages, which is pretty damn rude.

Still, she enjoys the honky-tonk bar Steph and some of the others drag her out to. While that’s definitely not her style, she _is_ in Nashville, and the line dancing is actually a lot fun. Plus, she gets to watch the other players trip over their own feet. Hall looks like a goddamn baby hippo, and Jamie cannot stay in a straight line to save his life. Tyler almost laughs herself sick.

The last thing she expects is for the weekend to devolve into the McEichel show, but it absolutely does. Honestly, how can she possibly ignore the way McDavid scowls when Jack jumps on Dylan Larkin for breaking the fastest skater record? Or the way he glowers when she ropes up Lundqvist during the Breakaway Challenge?

“Are you seeing this?” she mutters under her breath to Steph.

The other woman snickers. “I think everyone sees it but Jack.” She leans in and lowers her voice conspiratorially. “Should we intervene?”

Tyler considers it for a moment. She knows what went down in December when the Sabres were in Edmonton, and she is well aware there’s an unwritten ‘no interference’ rule but… “Let’s give them time,” she decides. “It’s their rookie year, they have time to sort it out.” Besides, now that she’s seen the way Jack actually _acts_ around McDavid, she knows it’s going to be one hell of an uphill battle, and that’s just not something she wants to delve into this weekend. She came here to party, and dammit, she will.

Steph nods. “We should definitely start a betting pool, though.”

“I like the way you think, Jonesy.”

 

In the thrilling chaos of the All Star Game - and Tyler is giddy about it for _weeks_ because she got to touch Jagr’s epic flow - Valentine’s Day kind of sneaks up on her. Well, more like it would have passed her right by if not for Jordie’s frantic call on the day itself.

“Jason asked me out.”

Tyler wipes at a stray streak of pale green on her toe with steady hands. “Am I alerting the media? Tweeting about it? Because I’m pretty sure Demers has already broadcast to the world that he’s in love with you and I’m just going to look like a dense idiot.”

“Fuck you,” Jordie spits. “It’s a fucking big deal.”

“It’s kind of not,” Tyler answers calmly. The polish brush slides smoothly over her nails and she hums, considering. It’s not her favourite shade of green, but she’s come to the conclusion it was worth testing. “I mean, besides the declaration of intent, you’d have to be pretty blind to miss it.”

“No one asks for a first date on Valentine’s! It _means things_.”

“Things Daddy’s made clear he wants from you,” she says, then wrinkles her nose. “We’re never calling him Daddy in this context ever again.”

Jordie grunts her agreement.

“Oh my God, Jordie, it’s fine,” Tyler continues, because if anyone is going to be guilty of asking someone out on a first date for Valentine’s it’s definitely Jason. Or Hall, if Ryan’s stories are true. “It’s like a week away-”

“It’s today, Tyler, fuck!” Jordie exclaims. “I know it means nothing to you but glance at a calendar every once in a while!”

Tyler shoots up on reflex. Marshall whines at being jolted from against her side. “Shit. Seriously?”

It’s not really so much that she’s not aware of the date - she’s not blind, there’s pink and red everywhere - but it’s not a date she’s circled on her calendar with hearts and stars. Not for a few years now and definitely, well. Definitely not since Jamie. She wants Valentine’s to mean something for once and she’s at a point in her life where it isn’t going to mean much of anything if she’s out with someone she doesn’t love. She’s cavalier about sex, she has needs, but she’s not about to pretend someone else could mean something like Jamie does.

It’s not like Jordie can say much of anything, considering her current freak out.

“Demers asked you out on Valentine’s? Way to bury the lead there.”

But she’s already standing, heading for her closet to rustle up a pair of flip flops. Not even her love for her women can ruin a self-pedicure.

Jordie squawks. Tyler grins. “Jason asking me out _is_ the lead!”

“I don’t think it counts when you’re the one who refuses to actually snatch up your happily ever after.”

“Are you going to help or lecture? Because the fact that you and my brother can’t seem to get your act together tells me you really don’t have a leg to stand on.”

Tyler flinches. It’s more of a gut reaction than anything emotional, but there isn’t another woman in the league who knows how much Tyler loves Jamie like Jordie. Not even Ryan.

“Shit, Segs, I-”

“I’ll be twenty minutes, okay? And for fuck’s sake put your closet back together by the time I get there.”

She hangs up on Jordie’s sputtering and allows herself a moment, just a moment, to think about what it would feel like if her role and Jordie’s were reversed; how it would feel if Jamie had been the one asking her out. She lets her stomach heat with the implication, lets her heart open for a moment, just a moment. Then shuts it all back down again.

Jamie won’t be asking her out any time soon and while Tyler can’t just resign herself to the fact that the man she loves doesn’t see her as the forever kind of girl, she, more than anyone else, knows she can’t let it take over her life either.

She sucks in a deep breath, squares her shoulders, slips on her shoes, and heads for Jordie’s, dialling Jason along the way.

“Spill the beans. What’s the date?”

“Fuck off, it’s-”

“Jordie’s freaking out, so if you want her to not feel embarrassed about what she’s wearing, you want to start talking right now.”

“Holy shit, someone pee in your Corn Flakes?”

Tyler growls. It’s not that she doesn’t want to help Jordie, she does. She really, really does because both of them deserve this, but she’s a little bitter. She likes her night at home on Valentine’s now. She likes not having to look at happy couples and panic about dates.

“Nothing heavy,” he finally says when she doesn’t bother to acknowledge his dig. “I just…I have some steaks. Some potatoes.”

“Not out?”

“No,” he answers immediately. “Are you kidding me, Segs? I want a date two, not to send her running for the hills.”

 _Not like the first time_ goes unsaid. Tyler has to give him that. “Okay. Okay. She’s meeting you?”

“Of course.”

She feels a smile tip up the corner of her mouth. “You’re a good egg, Demers.”

“Make sure you tell Jordie.”

“I think she knows.”

Tyler hangs up before she goes down that road with Jason and pulls into Jordie’s driveway. The door’s unlocked, of course, and Tyler takes the stairs two at a time.

“You don’t understand, Chubbs, this is Jason. This is a _date_ with _Jason_. This is a date with the guy who all but declared his love on our goddamn television channel.”

Tyler pauses outside of the door to Jordie’s room and can’t take a step further for a moment. She hasn’t prepared herself for Jamie and on a day like this she certainly feels like she has to. If she can’t have him like that today… well, that’s why she has her dogs and a Netflix account.

“Is that so bad?” Jamie asks softly. “Jor, you know exactly how he feels and you feel exactly the same way, so…”

“And that is why I’m _freaking out._ ” Soft thumps accompany every word and Tyler rolls her eyes and steps in before Jordie can further injure their captain.

“Why freak out? I’m here to solve all your wardrobe concerns.” She looks Jordie up and down and points to the bathroom. “First things first. Shower. When you come out, I’ll have everything ready for you.”

Jordie wavers the slightest bit, worrying at her bottom lip. Finally, she nods. “Thanks, Segs.” She disappears into the bathroom, leaving Tyler alone with Jamie and an enormous pile of Jordie’s clothes.

Jamie smiles at her, rubbing the spot on his chest where Jordie punched him. “It’s good you’re here. She was going to kill me in another two minutes.”

“Like I’m going to let Jordie sabotage this,” Tyler snorts, diving into the pile to jeans to find the soft, worn-in pair that Jordie loves.

“Not a dress?”

She eyes him for a moment and arches an eyebrow. He shrugs. “I mean, it’s a date, right?”

“Yes, but we want her to be comfortable, don’t we? Plus, where’s the rule saying you _have_ to wear a dress on a date?”

“You do,” he points out.

“Because I like wearing them. Jordie only suffers them every once in a while.” The shirt she picks out is loose and floaty, with just a little lace detail at the back. “Perfect. She can even wear flats.” She lays them out and knocks on the bathroom door. “Clothes are on your bed, Jor,” she hollers. “Put them on then call me, okay?”

“Okay.” Jordie’s voice is muffled. “Thanks, Segs.”

She pads out to the kitchen in search of Gatorade, with Jamie trotting at her heels. “So, I know why I’m here, but what about you?” she asks, throwing him a blue one.

“A guy can’t support his sister?” he asks. “Anyway, this is important, right? And it’s Valentines’ Day.”

He says it like it means something, and Tyler digs a nail covertly into her thigh to keep herself from touching that landmine. “Jason certainly thinks so.”

“You don’t?” His surprise is palpable when he looks at her. “It’s Valentine’s Day, Seggy. Don’t you have plans?”

“Sure. With Marshall, Cash, and Netflix.” She doesn’t feel like explaining her feelings on the subject, not to him.

Jamie looks dismayed. “But...no one should be alone today!”

And god, he really, truly believes that. Tyler can see it in every indignant line of his body. “How is being with Marshall and Cash alone?” she reasons. “And if that’s the case, who are you spending today with, Benny?” She’s very careful to have her back to him when she asks, because she really doesn’t think she can hide her expression when he says that he has a date.

“Well, I-” he stutters. “I was thinking of spending it with you, actually.”

The admission is a punch to the gut. Tyler’s glad he can’t see her face because she’s pretty sure it’s twisting in something that is half agony, half hope. She wants to believe that he really means something when he says something like that, but…

Tyler takes a deep breath and pastes a bright, teasing grin on her face as she spins around. “Like a date, Benny?”

He goes deep red. “No!” She feels something inside her deflate, a little part of her that says, _duh Tyler, what did you expect?_ But she just raises an eyebrow and lets him stumble on. “I just...Valentine’s Day is a day when you spend time with people you...you care about,” he finishes lamely.

Thank god for Jordie, who walks in wearing a robe and her hair wrapped up in a towel. “Help? Hair? Makeup?”

Tyler glances between the two siblings, each of them nervous for one reason or another. “Well, if we’re hanging out tonight then you might as well get the food now and meet me at my place. You know where the spare key is.” She takes Jordie’s arm, ignoring the way the other woman’s eyebrows are up at her hairline, and steers her away. “Meanwhile, I’m going to get your sister ready for the ball - er, I mean date.”

Jamie’s faint, “Okay,” echoes after them.

“Spending Valentine’s Day with my brother?” Jordie asks archly.

Tyler points at the clothes she’s laid out. “His idea, not mine. I won’t say anything if you don’t.” Her voice is meaningful because there is so much she could say on the subject of Jason Demers and his utter and complete devotion to Jordie. She’s only refrained (well, mostly) because Jordie is the very definition of skittish.

“Point taken,” she grumbles.

In the end, she sends Jordie off looking pretty much the same as she always does, with maybe just a little mascara and lipstick, and her hair in a pretty braid. Which is pretty much the point, Jason doesn’t need her scared off.

“Stop freaking out,” she tells Jordie as they head down to their cars. “It’s just Jason.”

“Exactly,” Jordie says with a strange expression on her face, something half terror and half longing.

Tyler nudges her gently. “Go. Have dinner. Have a good time. Enjoy his company.”

Jordie’s shoulders fall and she sends Tyler a significant look. “You too, Segs.” Then, unexpectedly, she grabs her in a hug. “Thanks.”

She bites back a grin. “Keep me updated.”

When she arrives back home, she’s assaulted by Marshall and Cash and the smell of lasagna. Jamie pokes his head out of the kitchen and grins. “Hey! I’m just warming up dinner.”

“Don’t tell me you’re using your mom’s frozen lasagna for this,” Tyler says warily, because she knows how Jamie hoards his mom’s food.

“Why not?” he asks reasonably, tossing together a salad. “You like it, too.”

It’s so domestic, she thinks, watching the way he moves so comfortably around her kitchen, weaving effortlessly around Marshall and Cash and their desperate bids to get his attention. Her gut clenches, thinking about just how much she wants this with him, this easy familiarity.

“-garlic bread?”

Tyler blinks. “Huh?”

Jamie laughs at her, that big dumb smile and those crinkles at the corners of his eyes that she loves. “Pay attention, Segs. Can you get the garlic bread out?”

“Yeah, sure.” She moves past him to get at the oven.

No one will blame her if she pretends for tonight, right?

 

They beat the Hawks in a home game in mid-March and the whole team goes out to celebrate. It’s the kind of night Tyler loves and she happily agrees to buy the first round when she walks in if they’ll just let her go home and change.

“It’s a nice suit,” Roussel says with a critical look.

She punches him in the shoulder with a laugh. “Exactly. I’m not letting you assholes mess it up.” Plus they’re home and Tyler is most certainly going to take advantage of that. Which totally bypasses the fact that she’s a woman that genuinely enjoys the rituals of makeup and hair. She’ll take the chirping - her hair takes her fifteen minutes to curl at this point, she’s been doing it for so long - because she knows she looks damn good when she steps back into the bar forty-five minutes later.

Even without the guys whistling at her.

She offers them a very sarcastic bow in response before snatching the beer right out of Val’s hand because he’s the only one she can trust to drink anything half-decent. Then she shoves at Klingberg until there’s room for her too. “So. Who needs a wingman tonight?”

She’s prepared for the babies to pipe up, maybe Nemeth or Janmark, but Val nudges her and subtly jerks his head across the bar to where a group of women are giggling and chattering. “Help?” he asks a little bashfully, which is hilarious because it’s tattooed, terrible driver Val who is asking.

“Awww, don’t worry.” She cracks her knuckles. “I’ve got you.”

Fifteen minutes later, Val is firmly ensconced within the group, smiling shyly at a pretty brunette sporting an awesomely quirky pair of glasses. Tyler nods with satisfaction and makes her way to the bar to get a drink for a job well done.

Except… “The lady’s drink is on me.”

Her nose wrinkles. “The lady’s drink is on her,” she tells the bartender, who is thankfully giving the guy beside her a massive side-eye. “Manhattan, sweet.”

“Aw come on, I just want to-”

“Buy me a drink, clearly,” Tyler says dryly. “Except I’ve already told you, thanks but no thanks.”

“Seriously? With tattoos like that…” He looks her up and down and she bristles because honestly, what the fuck? She has tattoos, ergo she’s easy? Hell no.

She’s just about ready to slam his head into the bar when an arm snakes around her waist. “Got your drink, babe?” Jamie inquires in her ear.

The guy’s eyes widen as he recognizes Jamie, his gaze flickering back to Tyler and putting two and two together. “I...shit. Sorry. Didn’t realize…” He slinks away and honestly, Tyler’s going to kill someone. Jamie doesn’t even move, leaving his arm right where it is and she knows that he’s just trying to help in that old-fashioned white knight way of his. But at this point, it’s just old and insulting.

“Segs? You okay? Did that guy say anything?”

Thankfully, her drink arrives and Tyler takes the time to take a sip, savoring the smooth, rich burn of the whisky and gathering her thoughts before she turns to him. “That guy was not the problem, Benny. You are.” His brow furrows and she sighs. “Well, he is a problem, because he’s an asshole who thinks he’s entitled to a woman’s attention, but how many times have I told you that I can handle myself?”

Jamie’s mouth opens and closes. “But...I don’t...I thought…”

“No, you didn’t think,” she responds tightly. “Because I’ve told you and Jordie’s told you, yet you let Jordie handle herself and not me. So why’s that?” Tyler raises an eyebrow and waits patiently.

He flounders for a moment, so utterly and completely confused. “It’s just...it’s different! You’re different!”

Tyler shakes her head slowly. “Different because you don’t trust me.” That’s the crux of the matter: he doesn’t trust her not to make a scene when a guy’s coming on too strong, and doesn’t trust her not to make a scene if she decides she wants to take the guy home.

“No! That’s not it at all!” he exclaims, eyes wide and wounded at the implication. “Segs, of course I trust you!”

“Then what is it? Because it’s going to be incredibly hypocritical if you pull something like this when you’ve told me off for doing the exact same thing for you.” It’s happened before, out in LA when some fans had gotten a little overzealous. He’d been quite firm about not needing to be rescued and not giving the fans that kind of impression.

 _That_ kind of impression, meaning that they’re together, and that he needed her to rescue him. She hadn’t spoken to him for three days after that.

Jamie has no response. Tyler rolls her eyes, her good mood dissipating in the wake of his mistrust and the fact that he doesn’t think twice about pulling shit like this and yet would still never, ever consider her as a possible partner.

She tosses back the rest of her drink, wincing at the burn. “Do me a favor and don’t talk to me anymore tonight, all right?” she asks, then hops off the stool, ignoring the way his face falls. She can’t care about that right now. This was supposed to be a _good_ night.

Well, it still can be, Tyler thinks, spotting Jason’s flailing arms on the dance floor. House music is not her favorite, but letting loose seems pretty damn appealing.

“Seggy!” Jason crows happily. “Come on, this song is _lit!”_

“Your taste in music is awful, Demers!” she bellows, but settles into the beat anyway. Val and his girl end up joining them too and Tyler just lets herself get lost in the music. It’s the same kind of feeling she gets when she really pushes herself during a workout, emptying her mind of pretty much everything and channeling it through movement until she’s too exhausted to think, muscles limp and wrung out.

In times like these, she gets flashes of absolute clarity and this is no different, the realization coming fast and hard, like a speeding train, as she steps into her house.

She has to get over Jamie.

Tyler drops her forehead to the cool wood of her front door when she eventually makes it home and breathes for a moment, then two, trying to wipe Jamie’s face from her mind, the gobsmacked surprise that had still been lingering behind his eyes. Jesus. Tonight was yet another reminder that he doesn’t see her as dating material even if….

Even if he’s in love with her.

It might not be obvious, but it’s something that Tyler just knows, somewhere deep down inside of her. There’s no other way to interpret the way he looks at her; the way he fits into her life like a missing puzzle piece. She thinks back to Valentine’s Day, and how easy it was to be with him, how adamant he was that they spend it together.

And at the same time, there’s no denying the fact that he will never, ever admit it. How can he, when he barely even trusts her to take care of one asshole at a bar? That’s the worst part, she thinks - that she has his love but not his trust. It hurts, so much more than it would than if he didn’t love her at all because how can you love someone but not trust them?

It’s an insult. And it hurts. Luckily, dealing with hurt is not exactly something new. It won’t be easy, but she’s pretty sure that she can get over being in love with Jamie Benn.

 _Time to step back,_ she tells herself and locks the door firmly. She’ll sulk in a bath tonight and in the morning, she’ll start chipping away at all the hooks he’s dug into her.

 

She doesn’t really get the chance. It’s kind of a thing, what with being lineys on the same team and living in each other’s pockets. There are other priorities here, things that take precedence over getting Jamie’s hooks out of her heart. There’s the push to the end of the season, then her fucking Achilles, god damn it, and playoffs. Just… playoffs.

Playoffs that she doesn’t get to play in because she’s fucking injured.

She hates her life.

She hates it even more when she watches her team absolutely fall apart from her fucking couch. Five unanswered goals. Five unanswered goals for the first-in-their-division Stars against a fucking wild card team.

Tyler stares at the television screen long after the game’s over, long after it switches from analysis to the nightly recap. She rubs her hands over her face as Cash whines at her feet, acutely aware of Tyler’s negative mood. She should have been there. She knows she could have made a difference and maybe there wouldn’t be any losing, defeated Stars climbing onto the bus. Dramatic, maybe, but she figures given she’s back on IR and “day-to-day” according to the trainers, she figures she’s allowed a pass.

Her phone trills for a Facetime call and she knows exactly who it is. Sure enough, Jamie’s stupid face is on the screen. She considers ignoring it because she knows she’s in no better mood than he is, but she also can’t. She misses him. She misses _them_. It’s too quiet in Dallas without her team.

Granted, he doesn’t look much better than she feels, tired and worn down, headphones standing out against his dark suit. Her own frustration and sadness must be all over her face because the first thing he says is, “So that sucked.”

Her first instinct is to yell and rage. She bites her lip to keep it back. “What happened?”

“We lost,” Jamie says bitterly. The phone screen shakes and Jamie frowns at someone off screen. It’s Oduya’s face that comes into view a moment later. He says something that the microphone in Jamie’s headphones don’t pick up and rolls his eyes.

“What?” she asks.

“Shut up, it’s my phone,” Jamie answers Oduya with a frown. “You can call her when I’m done.”

The little smile that blossoms over her face is reflexive and attached entirely to how possessive Jamie seems to be over her time, but she huffs. “Share, Benny,” she scolds gently because she’s not sure she’s quite ready to be happy for him or try to cheer him up. It’s too much pressure, even if he the way he pouts at her tugs at her heart. And she misses her team.

Oduya comes back into the screen a moment later as Jamie tucks his headphones away, frowning in the background. “Seggy. Could use you.” But it’s gentle, not accusatory. “Cap here won’t stop pouting.”

“I’m not pouting!” Jamie exclaims.

“You kind of are.” The phone moves again, Oduya’s doing this time, and Spezza’s face comes momentarily into view. “Hey Segs.” Then he calls up the bus, “Niemi owes me fifty bucks!”

Tyler ignores the squawk and murmur from further up the bus and gets Spezza’s smirking face instead. “Thanks. Knew the Cap would call you first.”

Tyler doesn’t blush. She knows it doesn’t surprise a single damn one of them that Tyler would be Jamie’s first call. Janmark leans into view and she waves.

“See? Listen to him grumble.” And sure enough, she can hear Jamie’s disgruntled voice in the background. Spezza makes a tsking sound as Janmark makes faces at her. The reflexive smile turns a little more real and she can feel some of the deeper sadness lighten in her heart. “Don’t you know Seggy’s not a toy you get to hoard for yourself?”

She can just barely hear Jordie yell something she’s pretty sure is about how terrible of a sharer Jamie is - which she can wholly attest to, thanks - as she settles deeper into her couch cushions. God, she misses them. She misses them and she misses hockey and she absolutely hates that she’s not there with them, playing and winning and when they can’t do that, giving them little ways to cheer up.

“Oh no. Oh hell no. Sharpy come take this. She’s doing the sad face thing and the only female sad faces I deal with are related to me.”

Tyler makes a protesting noise as the phone jolts again (honestly, it’s making her a bit dizzy) until the screen settles on Sharpy’s face. She sighs, but the smile she gives him feels a little bit more real than it has all night. These idiots. “Good goals.”

He shrugs. “Not good enough.”

Tyler blows out a breath. “Yeah.”

Sharpy’s eyes are knowing, his face too sympathetic. “Can’t win ‘em all, Seggy.”

“Could have won this one.”

He shrugs. “Maybe,” and then, with too much awareness, he goes on to say, “That’s not on you.”

Now it’s her turn to shrug. “Maybe.”

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t be dramatic. It’s one game.” He flashes her a smile. “Much rather have you back against St. Louis or Chicago than Minnesota.”

“Sharpy-”

“Tyler.” His voice is calm, steady. “We need you, okay? We could have used you tonight, yeah, but we can always use you. That doesn’t mean you’re responsible because you’re not here and you not being here doesn’t make you less of a player. Or less of a Star.”

It guts her a little, that he’s so damn good at cutting to the quick of her insecurities with the team. Insecurities he’s always adamant she shove up Boston’s ass because he’s been on the team with her for a year and remembers the little shit from those days. “Yeah but-”

“But nothing.” His eyes flick up, a grin on his face that puts Tyler’s back up a bit. “Hey assholes. Segs doesn’t think we miss her.”

There’s a rise of indignant noises and Tyler manages to count to twenty before the phone vibrates violently in her hand with text after text. In the meantime, Sharpy even goes as far as to turn the camera so she can see the heads that pop up over the seats, the odd little wave. She doesn’t hate the tears that spring to her eyes as much as she maybe should. Sharpy’s smile is smug and knowing as he reappears.

“Enough? I’m sure the kids would be happy to remind you how much you’re loved.”

“God, it’s enough,” she says on a bit of a laugh, because her phone has not stopped vibrating, the fucking idiots. It’s done its duty though, and she feels a little bit better. “Hey, give me back to Benny, yeah? Seems I’ve got a job to do, too.”

She ignores the knowing eyebrow waggle she gets from Sharpy as the phone is passed up a few rows and over to Jamie. “Hey.”

He still looks grumpy and wan. “Hey.” He presses his mouth in a thin line and Tyler knows what that means.

“Out with it.” Because she hates when he beats around the bush with her.

“We need you, okay? It’s stupid for you to think that you’re useless now that you’re injured. It doesn’t mean your place in the lineup isn’t always going to be here for you or that we don’t miss you.”

Her heart swells and she hopes it isn’t all over her face. She knows better, of course, because she is the type that wears her heart on her sleeve, but she can hope.

“Just… your job is to get better, Segs. That’s what you’re supposed to do right now. We need you out there when we get to St. Louis.”

It makes her shiver violently, brilliantly. Not ‘if’, ‘when’.

It’s their year. She can feel it.

 

Except, that’s not it at all. Not even close.

She doesn’t get back on the ice for St. Louis because she injures her leg again, heaven forbid they catch a break. Instead, she watches game seven from the press box feeling her heart break over and over and over again with each Blues goal, with all of the fans that make their way out before the final buzzer.

She hates that Jamie has to stay for the media when she can beeline out, when she can all but run for her life. And she does exactly that, shamelessly. Cash and Marshall don’t know anything about the Stanley Cup and rush her in the doorway.

God, she’s a horrible teammate.

She’s already in her sweats and ratty t-shirt when the doorbell sounds, an hour of puppy cuddles later. Jamie’s kicking his shoes off by the time she makes it to the front door, still in his suit.

“Did you even shower?” she asks quietly.

He shrugs. Tyler’s heart squeezes. Neither of them are okay and she knows that. She can put aside everything for this.

“I probably still have a pair of your sweats lying around,” she says softly.

He sucks in a breath, then releases it in a long shaking exhale. “I promised you-”

“Jamie.” Her eyes slide closed and open again. “I can’t do this tonight. I can’t.”

Neither can he, she knows that. They can’t. It’s a fresh wound and she won’t hurt him. It hurts enough as it is, watching him curl in on himself, make himself so, so small. Jamie is not small.

“Hey.” She reaches for him, swallows around the lump in her throat when he comes, easy as you please. She loops her fingers through a couple of belt loops, intimate and undoing all of the work she’s been doing to build up that wall around her heart, but here she is. She can’t be anywhere else, not when everything hurts like this.

Fuck.

Fuck her calf and the fucking Blues.

She tilts her head towards the stairs. “Come on, eh? You can have a real shower. I’ll even get out the good towels.”

All her towels are good towels, but Jamie smiles anyway.

“I draw the line at showering with you though.”

It’s a flippant comment, one she’s said a hundred times for her own peace of mind, to remind herself that it’s not something they do… but for a moment his face utterly transforms and Tyler thinks both _oh god finally_ and _please not like this_ before Jamie shutters it all in again. His mouth opens and closes a few times and Tyler sighs.

“Come on, Benny.” He doesn’t move though and Tyler looks up at him, at the stricken look on his face and _fuck_. “Jamie?”

He sways into her, hands opening and closing reflexively at his sides and finally, finally, Tyler gets it. She steps right into him and folds her arms around him again. Jamie’s right there with her, his arms heavy bands over her shoulders. She ducks her face into his shoulder and he follows suit, nose in her hair and they stand there, holding on.  

“Okay,” she whispers. “You’re okay. It’s okay.”

“It’s not.” She winces at the tears in his voice and clutches at him tighter. “It’s…I promised, Tyler. I _promised_.”

He had. He’d promised her. But she’s not going to hold it against him. She couldn’t, of course, and the fans won’t either. Neither would Kari or Antti. But Jamie? That’s another story entirely.

She has to swallow and her fingers clench hard in his suit jacket as she says, “You can’t control St Louis.”

“We had so many chances, so many opportunities-”

“We’ll have more.”

“In _October_.”

She tilts her head back; can’t help the way she nuzzles at his jaw until he looks back at her. “In October, when we have a clean slate and we’re all back.” She can’t make herself go any further. She’s not ready for that much optimism, even for Jamie’s benefit. She’s gotten better at not ripping herself apart for someone else even if she’s pretty sure his arms and his melancholy are the only things holding her together right now.

“The team won’t look the same.”

“No. But Jamie. You know we’re not going anywhere.”

Not her. Not Jordie or Jason. She knows that if Spezza, Sharpy, even Oduya have control they won’t be going anywhere either. Janmark will still be around, Eaves and Eakin. They don’t want to go. They have a good team, a solid team. Management knows that.

“Come on,” she says again, cajoling as she tugs him closer, starting backwards towards the stairs. “You need a shower, Jamie Benn.”

She’s kind of grateful he doesn’t make her muscle him up the stairs and into the bathroom, grateful he’s already stripped down to his boxers by the time she returns with the towels and a pair of sweats she’s likely stolen from him over the years.

If she skims the same six tweets on her phone and ignores all her messages while she waits for him, he’s not going to know.

She looks up when the door clicks open. He doesn’t look any better, really, still down and maybe a little red around the eyes. She doesn’t ask if he’d been crying. Instead, she watches him hover awkwardly before she makes herself roll her eyes and pat the mattress. She just barely keeps her laughter in check when he sets his jaw, so determined. It’s not like he’s about to jump her.

What he does takes her a little off guard.

He climbs right into bed, like they don’t have boundary lines and haven’t ever drawn them. He’s still warm and flushed from the shower, but his eyes are still a painful mess of disappointment and regret. The same combination that comes with every elimination. Tyler knows what she’ll do: get that vacation she didn’t over the All Star Break and separate herself from hockey for a week, maybe two. Then she’ll go to Boston and Toronto to work out and see her friends. Maybe migrate to Cole Harbour for a week and work with Sid at her camp…and, of course, Ryan’s wedding in July. She has no idea what Jamie will do, probably go back to BC for a bit, visit with Jenny, hang with Jordie.

But not this. In the morning, he’ll forget about this.

She can feel the way she’s vibrating with it, manic and a little unsettled. It’s Jamie and the end of the seasons and she hates when she’s like this, when everything is so overwhelming and crazy and-

“Tyler.” He’s not reproachful, per se, but she tries to stay still for more than a heartbeat. It doesn’t work and she hates the way he huffs. “Come here.”

“I’m good,” she whispers back. “Seriously, I’m settling d-”

“I’m not good.”

Her breath catches. It hurts, is the thing, sharp and brittle. It makes her feel nauseous even as she lets him manhandle her until she’s on her side, until she’s not facing him. His arm is a heavy band over her hip as he pulls her in like she weighs nothing, wraps her half under him and totally against him. Her breath stutters in her chest.

“S’okay?” he asks, freezing like it’s only just dawned on him that it could be a problem.

Tyler should say yes, because he’s sad and this is… a whole lot of what she wants and entirely the wrong circumstances. It’s not helping her quest to get over him, and now she doesn’t even have hockey to focus on. There are no other distractions.

“You know I don’t have boundaries.”

Because she’s also a glutton for punishment and a sucker for Jamie freaking Benn.

This is not news.

She wishes she were though. Everything hurts in this compressed way, squeezing down on her until it’s hard to breathe, until the sobs climb up her chest. She curls in on herself, tighter and tighter and Jamie makes a whimpering noise as he curls with her.

“Tyler.”

She turns her head into her pillow and cries for their great season, for their amazing team, and for everything they should have been able to accomplish.

Only a little bit, she promises herself, is for the fact he only wants her like this when he’s sad and down and not when he’s _her_ Jamie, with the sparkling eyes and little boy grin.

It takes her hours to fall asleep.

 

Locker clean out day, to put it lightly, sucks. Just a day before she’d been so excited, on the ice again, skating, ready to get back and contribute to their Western Conference Final…and instead she’s not.

Instead, she’s packing up her equipment, her bags, the little odds and ends that have accumulated in her locker over the course of the year.

They’re done.

Their season is over.

She feels the tears flood her eyes again and drops to the bench, bracing her elbows on her thighs.

“Hey.” Spezza’s the one nudging her. “You’ll have next year.”

Tyler shakes her head and can’t quite put into words how much she needed this. How much she needed a Cup in Dallas. “I just… I could have helped.”

“How?” he asks, in a voice Tyler can’t help but feel is deceptively calm.

She huffs because she hates being treated like a child. She’s been to the final before, lifted the Cup before and she wanted it for this team. More, no matter how much she’s trying to deal with everything she feels for Jamie, she knows she wanted this for him, for everything he’s struggled back from. She’d wanted it for her, too. Proof positive that she can really contribute to Dallas, that she deserves to be here, deserves to be loved by the fans and the team.

“I was injured,” she says. “I wasn’t even…”

“And you had control over that?”

She glares because goddammit she abhors being patronized. Spezza, who is an asshole, is unfazed.

“What were you going to do, kid? You were injured.”

“It’s playoffs,” Tyler stresses. “People play through shit all the time.”

“Not like that. Your Achilles is not a bruise.”

“It was my calf.”

“The second time.”

She makes a disgruntled noise. “I could have played.”

“Trainers said no. It’s not your fault.”

“But I-”

“Stop.”

Tyler swallows.

He drops a heavy hand to her head. “You belong here, Seguin,” he says, his voice low and fuck, that is not where she’d been going. She doesn’t think. She just…huh. Maybe it was. “I’ve been here two years. You haven’t once stopped trying to prove yourself in that time. Two years, Segs. You’ve been trying to prove yourself for two fucking years when you don’t have to. Not to us. Not for a long time.”

Tyler sucks in a heavy breath. Her chest aches with a whole lot of things she thought she’d dealt with long ago.

“Don’t let this loss affect what you’ve brought to this team. Don’t let your injury devalue what you’ve given us. Don’t let it belittle what you’ve worked so fucking hard to build here.”

She shakes her head and looks down at her knees, her traitor leg that couldn’t keep itself healthy, and then get healthy fast enough for her to make a difference. For her to pull them along, kicking and screaming if she’d had to, in order to hoist the Cup again. She even had the perfect tattoo place picked out on the other side of her ribs, like turning the other cheek, the exact proof that she wasn’t Boston Tyler Seguin anymore.

“Don’t,” Spezza repeats like she’s a rookie. He sighs, his face hard. “Look, if that’s not going to work then think about it this way: don’t you fucking dare belittle what we put into you.”

Tyler can’t breathe. “What?”

“You point out someone in this room who doesn’t have faith in you,” Spezza says, keeping his voice low. “You give me one name on this team that doesn’t back you one hundred percent.”

She can’t. They both know it.

“If you can’t do it yourself, then let us do it. We’re a team, Seguin. I don’t think I have to look up the definition for you.”

She sighs as she leans back into her stall, letting her eyes close. She’s been off for weeks and still feels fucking exhausted. This season wasn’t supposed to be this dramatic. Hell, it wasn’t supposed to be dramatic at all. But now, with their playoff hopes dashed and the stretch of the summer ahead of her, she just feels wrung out.

Spezza rests a hand on her knee, squeezes. “Next year.”

She opens her eyes and lets his determination wash through her. She thinks of Toronto, of Ryan’s wedding in BC. She thinks of spending time with her sisters and visiting her mom. She expels a deep breath loud and clear as she echoes, “Next year.”

 

Tyler blinks against blinding sunlight, cursing softly as it stabs at her eyeballs and makes her head throb. She curls into her pillow and forces herself to focus through the drumline in her head. Vegas, the NHL Awards. Right.  

There is a really, really, _really,_ good reason Tyler does not go to Vegas.

This, in summary, is the reason: Vegas is a giant temptation zone. Tyler likes to be social. She really likes to be social with alcohol and sometimes, when she’s social and there’s alcohol involved, she ends up having sex. Which, she knows is not necessarily a bad thing, but she’s toned it down since the trade and she doesn’t so much like being in a situation where she could fuck that up. She is trying here, is what she’s saying.  

She’s been pretty damn good at it. Part of that is the wonder that is the Dallas media, so much more focused on the Cowboys than the Stars, but part of it is the fact that there are actually people in Dallas she likes to hang out with. Like Jamie, usually, before her feelings decided to spin out of control. Jamie, who, when she goes to roll into the other pillow, she discovers is just as passed out in bed beside her.

She’s too practiced at these moments to shoot up in bed like an idiot. Instead, she freezes and takes stock. They’re both still dressed, the room doesn’t look like they stumbled into every breakable object on the way to fuck each other silly, and Tyler definitely doesn’t feel sore in all the places she should (because she and Jamie would have fantastic sex, the kind of sex that would leave her sore for days).

Her heart turns over uncomfortably in her chest, in case she isn’t already aware that the two months apart from him have done nothing for her feelings. Two months and a whole lot of wedding planning, she allows, which really doesn’t bode well for those women who are maybe a little more romantically inclined.

Like her.

Fuck.

She rolls over and buries her head back in the pillow. It’s too early and she’s too hungover to deal with this shit. Like Jamie himself (whom she quite obviously and drunkenly, platonically, shared a bed with last night) and everything that comes with him.

Thus, her eyes are closed when she hears, “Fuck,” and then, “Thank God.”

Tyler opens her eyes enough to glare. “Flattering, Benny.”

Jamie snorts and flops back on the bed, flinging an arm over his eyes in the process. “Like marriage is what you’re looking for right now, come on.”

And that… stings. He’s just chirping, she gets that. But it’s back to the beginning, where she can’t own the reputation and play it to the hilt, but can’t seem to walk away from it either. It makes the pounding in her head worse.

“Did you fall asleep again?”

“No, but.” She pushes herself up. “I’m going to head back.”

He doesn’t stop her which is a surprise. That stings too, like he’s shrugging her off after a one-night stand and Tyler knows better goddamn it.

Her good mood thoroughly spoiled, she stomps down the hall and bangs on Jack’s door because there’s little an enormous plate of waffles and a mimosa or two can’t cure.

Except that Jack doesn’t answer and okay, fine, Tyler can mope on her own. She’s preparing to do just that when she hears the elevator ding down the hall and her spidey senses go all tingly. When she pokes her head back out, it’s Jack, dressed in what looks like an inside-out Oilers t-shirt and that tells Tyler everything about where she disappeared to last night. Not like it wasn’t obvious with the way McDavid literally could not take his eyes off her, not even with the Calder in his hand.

And _that_ was even more telling. “Inside,” Tyler demands because she might not be able to deal with Jamie, but she can deal with Jack and McDavid. Hell she will voluntarily and without complaining deal with Jack and McDavid if it means not dealing with Jamie.

Except that Jack is a shit-stirrer in the first degree and quite obviously recognizes the off-ice value in ‘good defense is good offense’. She wastes no time once the food is ordered, looking at Tyler from head to toe and smirking. “Nice sex hair.”

“Not sex hair,” Tyler responds automatically.

Jack grunts and something flickers in her eyes. “But you wish it was. Why didn’t you just jump him?”

“You know why.” They’ve had this talk already and she doesn’t get why Jack always has to push on this point.

“Screw you, I know your dumb reasons and they’re still dumb. Even more so because we’re in Vegas.”

“The team,” Tyler begins, but even she knows it sounds weak.

And Jack, being Jack, jumps on that weakness like a shark scenting blood. “The Stars are not the Bruins and you goddamn know that, Segs. You told me that yourself after playoffs.” Her eyes are hard and blue, chips of ice. “They won’t implode if you take what you want.” She raises an eyebrow. “And you’re Tyler Seguin, aren’t you? That’s what you do.”

Except in this one case. Tyler looks away, hating just how very right Jack is. Why is she the one who feels like a rookie right now, that a goddamn nineteen-year-old is telling her to get her shit together?

Still, Jack’s missing one very important point: yes, Tyler takes what she wants but Jamie doesn’t want her. Not enough, at least. And that’s a brick wall she doesn’t want to keep running into. “Not in this case.”

“Fuck you, you’re not my mom friend. Stop pretending you’re some fucking responsible martyr or something,” Jack explodes. “God, Segs. You’re supposed to be my glamorous older sister that helps me steal booze and kiss boys in dark corners, not the one I put on a fucking pedestal.”

Tyler rocks back in her chair, shocked. She’s saved by a knock at the door and thank god for room service. It gives her time to gather her nerves and put her masks in place. She leers as she turns, eyeing that ridiculous Oilers shirt and says, “Boys like Connor McDavid?”

Jack turns tomato red and finally, Tyler feels like she’s regained her footing. She’d been terrified to take Jack on when she’d been first drafted, because who the hell is she to mentor a rookie? But there has never been any question with Jack, brash and headstrong and so talented, the second overall pick. The parallels are numerous and it’s not so terrible a prospect when they’re so well matched in almost every way.

Jack blurts out the whole story like Tyler’s poked a hole in the dam and christ. She knew McDavid had it bad, but this is above and beyond. Jealousy sparks deep inside her but she shoves it down and away. Her feelings and her own screwed up relationship have no place here, not when Jack keeps poking at her waffles like they might hold the answers to everything. “So what are you going to do?”

Jack scowls, but Tyler would have to be blind to miss the flash of panic. “I’m not going to do anything. This doesn’t change how I feel. You don’t have to worry, though. I’m also not going to do anything to bruise him or whatever.”

Tyler’s pretty sure that not doing anything is a good way to bruise him. She knows this from experience. When the feelings go that deep, it’s so, so easy to get hurt, if for no other reason than the other person is rarely aware they’re doing anything wrong. “It’s not that simple.”

“Of course it is. We both knew what we were getting into,” Jack says, so utterly confident and so very wrong. “All he needs is time for it to go away.”

Tyler makes a noncommittal noise and refills Jack’s mimosa. At least she has the sneaking booze part of this whole big-sister-mentorship thing down. “Sure,” she says blithely. “Keep thinking that, rookie.”

Her relationship with Jamie might be a trainwreck, but Jack and McDavid have something that is going to set off fireworks and Tyler for one, can’t wait for it all to go down.

 

With the season done and the awards over, Tyler lets herself fall into the plans for Ryan’s wedding which, contrary to what they’d hoped, is the biggest not-secret of the NHL. Tyler knows for a fact both Ovechkin and Malkin have offered up opinions on everything from colours to flowers and even Marner, if the stories are true, had a hand in place settings, if not more.

But Tyler. Tyler has been there for all of it.

When the happy day comes, she’s the first one up bright and early and not hungover, sharp as a tack. Maid of Honour duties, after all, wait for no one, and Tyler is damn well going to give Ryan the best wedding of her life, even if…

Even if Jamie’s not there to celebrate with her.

Which is totally on her; it had been her choice. The original thought had been to bring Jamie, of course. Jamie just made sense. The July wedding is smack dab in the middle of the off-season and Tyler knows Jamie still has a soft spot for BC. But after the end of the season, the awards and the stark reminder that he could never see this moment with her, Tyler hadn’t been able do it. She couldn’t go through a wedding knowing that there’s a healthy chunk of her that wants this with Jamie. Add having him there when he’s not only on a different page, but living in a whole separate book? She might as well jump over a cliff since that would be less painful.

Brownie, on the other hand.

“Fuck do you know how to throw a party,” Brownie grins at her and looks out over what Carey understatedly calls her backyard. It’s a freaking field, wide and open and greener than Tyler had anticipated.

“Hey,” she says quietly, reaching out to straighten his tie. She feels restless and uneven and hates it. “Do me a favour and keep it low key, okay? It’s Nuge’s day and it’s important to me.”

Brownie’s known her far too long not to see through the facade. “I won’t party too hard,” he promises and kisses her forehead. “Don’t want you leaving me in the middle of a field with one shoe. There could be manure out there!”

Tyler doesn’t have the heart to correct him (Carey has horses, not cows, and they don’t go in that field) and smooths his jacket instead. “Thanks.”

He catches her hand and squeezes. “I got you. Always.”

“I know,” she says and hates the way her smile wavers. He pulls her in and hugs her tight and Tyler closes her eyes. It’s not her day. It’s not her wedding. She shouldn’t feel so bittersweet about the whole thing.

“Hey,” he says, and nudges her shoulder because he’s some sort of mind-reader now. “Don’t ruin it.”

Brownie’s the best. She hugs him again, using it for a moment to steady herself and will never tell him how grateful she is that he clings back a little. “Okay, I have to go check bouquets and make sure everyone’s parents managed to make it and go over everything with Carey one more time. Oh! And ring bearers…”

Brownie laughs. “I’ll get the kids, Seggy. Hallsy’s gotta be around here somewhere.”

He lopes off and Tyler sucks in another deep breath, releases it to a count of three. She needs this to not hurt. She needs to stop looking at all of this, imagining something a little more formal and a little bigger. She’s never really done things small, even if she’ll have to compromise with Jamie on-

Fuck.

She slams her eyes closed and breathes again, tries to find that place where she’s the amazing maid of honour.

“Segs! There you are. Oh my god.”

Her eyes fly open and lock on Sid, who looks harried and panicked, and Tyler pastes a smile on her face. “Sorry, wanted to check on Brownie.”

“For fuck’s sake Seguin, you’re the maid of honour you can’t just-”

Tyler lets Sid grab her arm and drag her back up to the house.

 

It’s a beautiful simple ceremony and Ryan looks utterly stunning, glowing and happy. Tyler cries, but so do Steph and Dani, and she makes a concerted effort to ignore the way PK’s eyeing Carey as she oversees the ceremony, looking to all the world like they’re definitely going to be next. Tyler absently makes a note to talk to Marcia about that. She’s sure they can get some sort of pool going.

A lot of it is formality and definitely sounds like a bunch of mashed up ceremonies in one. Not that Tyler cares. Ryan’s half in tears and Taylor’s eyes don’t look much clearer as they hold hands and talk about love and forever. Jordan is the only one who looks steady and sure, the faith in all three of them that Tyler can only wish she had. Not in them, of course. She wishes someone had faith in her like that.

No one has to know her tears aren’t all happy.

Tyler’s grateful for the reception. She does everything in her power to keep busy, to keep her mind off of the emotions that are clogging her chest. She knows the women see it. Dani looks at her more than once like Tyler’s a one-woman wrecking crew, like maybe the makeup Tyler’s wearing can’t quite hide the haggard feeling in her chest.

Jesus. She can do better than this. She did better than this for seasons and seasons.

“Alright, break time, No Rest for the Wicked. Dance with me.”

Tyler sighs as Brownie wraps his fingers around her wrist. “I can’t, I have to-”

“Have some fun at the wedding you put together almost single-handedly?” Brownie retorts. “It’s not like you to miss a party. People are worried.”

“People need to shut the fuck up,” Tyler snaps because that’s a nerve ending that she thinks is always going to be a little raw now, moments she’ll never live down, no matter how many times she apologizes and works on changing.

“Hey now, claws away,” he says mildly and squeezes her wrist.

Tyler deflates and is so grateful it’s Brownie and she doesn’t have to apologize for him to know she’s sorry. “You know, we’d make a great married couple.”

Brownie, bless him, snorts. “Fuck off, I’d kill you.”

“Pardon me?”

He smacks a kiss against her cheek. “We’d be a terrible couple Seggy,” he repeats. “We’d be a mess. S’why you need Benn, remember?”

“Fuck him, too.”

Brownie hisses out a breath. “Low blow. Sorry.”

And fuck Brownie for being the bigger person too.

“No, I’m sorry. I asked you to come…”

“Seggy, I’m under no illusions here,” he interrupts before she can get really going. She knows she has a habit of word vomiting apologies until she can’t breathe. “I know who I’m replacing and I know why. I know you.”

Tyler deflates and lets him tug her in. She hugs him back, maybe a little more desperately than she needs to, tucks her face into his shoulder. “I want to be happy. Today of all days, I want to be happy.”

Brownie shushes her for a moment. When he pulls back, he scrapes his thumbs beneath her eyes. He’s not rubbing at makeup, because even the tears she knows are in the corner of her eyes are no match for her mascara. Tyler knows her makeup. “So be happy,” he says quietly, nudges at her hip with his when she rolls her eyes. “Not like that, fucker.”

“Then how?”

He shifts until he wraps his arm around her hips. “These are your girls, right?”

Tyler’s eyes flick around the dance floor, to Sid laughing with an awkwardly dancing Malkin, Dani and Marinette, heads bent together at the head table. Jack, Steph and Mike are making fools of themselves, joy on their faces, while PK guides Carey’s body against his in the middle of the dance floor. Even Marcia and the baby Coyote look like they’re enjoying themselves.

And Ryan… Ryan looks absolutely radiant and utterly gorgeous, her smile so wide Tyler’s pretty sure the entirety of the solar system can see it. She looks like this is where she wants to be, exactly here. Tyler feels the smile curve her mouth.

“Yeah, thought so.” He kisses her temple. “So. You’re a Star, you’re a girl. Be happy.”

It still hurts. It dulls as she dances with Steph and Jack, as she somehow drags Dylan into the fray. She laughs at Marner and watches Jack and McDavid make eyes at each other (and if Tyler has to stage an intervention, for fuck’s sake, Jack, seriously). She dances with Brownie and then with Ryan, then all of the women crowd around her and Ryan like this is their world, their party.

Their family.

Twelve extra sisters and Tyler looks down at her bare toes for more than a few blinks just to get a hold of herself. But it really isn’t until Ryan finds her later, cheeks still pink and grinning like she’ll legitimately never stop, that Tyler really feels the melancholy leave her. It’s easy with Ryan, who hugs her tight.

“Thank you,” she says breathlessly. “You know this couldn’t have happened without you.”

Tyler shrugs, feeling the blush heating her own face. “You’d have figured it out.”

Ryan laughs. “Just say, ‘You’re welcome,’ Seguin.”

She can’t, is the thing. She chokes on the words because she’s not just ‘welcome.’ So instead she cups Ryan’s skull, leans her head against the woman who has held her together on the days Tyler wasn’t sure she could do it herself. She owes Ryan so much. God, she owes them all so much.

“I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

And Ryan, who knows she’s struggling, knows exactly why and knows everything Tyler isn’t saying, grins at her. “Exactly.”

 

The World Cup is… awesome, to put it lightly. She has, of course, played on mixed teams like this before, but she can’t help but add it to the list as another wonderful thing that’s happened to her in the 2016 calendar year.

Well, mostly. After she takes care of one wee thing.

Sid is not impressed with her pounding on her door. Tyler, quite frankly, doesn’t care. “We’re staging an intervention.”

That does not make Sid look any happier. “No.”

Tyler rolls her eyes and shoves her way in. “Yes. Don’t worry, it’s not about you. This time.”

Now it’s Sid’s turn to roll her eyes like she’s unaware of the standing rule not to directly meddle in whatever Sid’s relationship is with Malkin. “No interfering, Segs.”

“Come on. It’s about Jack. You were there, you know how bad it is.” It’s worse, but Tyler’s getting there.

“Yes. When she had a _panic attack_ about her relationship with McDavid. We are not getting involved.” She even crosses her arms over her chest.

Tyler is undaunted. She’s seen that face before and Sid now owns a smartphone despite that face. “Did you see what they’re writing?”

“I told you to stop reading press,” Sid scolds.

“So I’m a glutton for punishment,” Tyler shrugs because like that’s new information. “It’s affecting the team!”

It’s a low blow. That’s how far Tyler’s willing to go. Still, Sid merely presses her lips into a thin line. Time for the big guns.

“Sid, you want us to have lives, right? And no one knows about rivalries like you and I do.”

That makes Sid grumble, but Tyler knows when she’s won. “It’s naptime.”

Tyler’s been counting on that. She needs Determined Captain Sid for this and is not above manipulating naptime to do it. “I know.”

Sid sighs and Tyler bites her cheeks against the grin that wants to stretch wide across her face. “You think this is a good idea? I mean, I guess it’s different. They’re not on the same team…”

“She freaked out, Sid. I’m pretty sure that tells us everything.” Tyler, because it’s her thing, ignores Sid’s discomfort and wraps the other woman in a hug. “She deserves this.”

It takes a minute, but Sid sags against her. “Tyler.”

Tyler’s heart clenches. They don’t really have much in common, not even the way they play hockey, but this is strangely a place where Tyler really actually gets Sid, understands her reluctance to send one of the women heart first into something she won’t even take for herself. It’s the same thing Tyler can’t take because she knows, intimately, what it’s like to feel ruined on a team that should be her family.

“We all deserve it,” Tyler says, even as her chest hurts with how much she wishes it were a possibility she could count on. Specifically, a possibility with Jamie. She closes her eyes. This is not the time to go down that road.

Sid shakes out a sigh then pulls back, her mask in place. “What’s the plan?”

The plan involves Steph, of course, and Aaron Ekblad, who had looked legitimately relieved when Tyler and Steph approached him with their plan to solve The McEichel Problem. It also involves Carey, in part because PK Subban is the only thing that ever raises her blood pressure and in part because if they need to tie Jack down, well, Carey’s the best woman for the job. Sid’s still grumpy about the whole thing, but between Sid’s displeasure around having her precious routine disrupted and the articles about the rivalry ruining Team North America, Tyler’s hoping to make quick work of solving the drama that has been Jack and McDavid’s relationship.

Steph meets them a few doors down from Jack’s room. “Ekblad’s on his way with McDavid now. It shouldn’t be long.”

“Good,” Sid says and starts off down the hall, Carey right behind her. Tyler’s grinning now, wide and gleeful. She claps her hand on Steph’s shoulder. “I love it when a plan comes together.”

Steph snorts out a laugh, but brings up the rear and stays out of sight as Sid knocks on Jack’s door. She’s glaring when Jack pulls it open. “This is messing with my pregame,” she says, even though Jack looks overwrought and exhausted.

Tyler rolls her eyes. God, the woman plays everything like Game 7 of the Stanley Cup Finals. “Sid, we talked about this.” As if Sid isn’t the one that says it over and over again. “There are more things in life than hockey. Jesus.”

“Except,” Carey says in that way she has that is endlessly calm and way, way too perceptive. “This is kind of hockey.”

It hits the mark; Tyler can see it in Jack’s face. Excellent.

“Don’t encourage her,” she says of Sid and shoves her way into the room. She perches on the end of Steph’s bed and tries not to grin when Jack warily sits next to her. This is her role, even by Jack’s standard and Tyler absently wonders if Jack’s regretting pointing that out back in June. “We gotta talk about McDavid, Eichs.”

Jack puts on the brakes, which comes as a surprise to just about no one. And Tyler gets it to some extent, of course she does. She’d hated going second to Taylor but everything worked out in the end. Taylor has Jordan and Ryan, and Tyler has a Stanley Cup ring and Dallas.

Jack, though...Jack’s so caught up in the rivalry that she can’t see anything else. Honestly, at any other time Tyler would just leave it alone because Jack’s still young and learning but it’s the World Cup. She deserves to remember it as something truly amazing and to do that, she has to work with McDavid, not fight him. Everyone knows that they have the potential to light everything up.

It’s Sid who finally cuts to the heart of the matter: “You’ve been trying so hard to fight the rivalry narrative that you’ve played into it.”

Even Tyler sucks in a breath. Sometimes, she forgets how Sid’s version of love can feel like being boarded. From the shell shocked look on Jack’s face, they probably won’t need to tie her to the bed after all.

It is all about the narrative, Tyler thinks wryly as Carey adds her two cents in her quiet, understated way. There’s always going to be a narrative, whether it’s defined by the press, the fans, or hell, the league itself. Tyler knows that better than most. The key thing, she’s learned, is taking control of it and not allowing it to become a self-fulfilling prophecy. It took getting traded to Dallas for her to realize that’s what had happened to her. She sure as hell is not going to let it happen again.

She certainly doesn’t want it to happen to Jack. Not when Jack’s already let them define how she interacts with McDavid, making a complicated situation even worse. It’s clear that the boy is ass over teakettle for her, and as for Jack? Well, it would be one thing if she genuinely disliked him, but Tyler saw her the morning after the awards and she, of all people, should know what ‘well and gloriously fucked’ looks like. Plus, Jack talks about McDavid like he’s a mystery to be solved and that’s not the worst thing in the world.

Still, the only thing they can really do is give her food for thought and hope it turns out for the best. The rest is up to her and McDavid, who is delivered, as promised.

Tyler grins as Ekblad shoves him into the room, turns to Steph, and wraps her up in a hug. “Good work, team!”

Sid huffs, but there’s something in her face Tyler likes, something light. “I’m going for my nap.”

Tyler turns to Carey, palm raised for a high five. Carey’s smiling at her softly, even as she slaps her palm against Tyler’s.

“What?” she asks.

“You know this kind of goes against the Girl Brigade non-intervention policy?”

“Huh?” Tyler blinks.

Carey wraps an arm around Tyler’s waist and starts to propel her back down the hall, leaving Steph and Ekblad on watch duty. “The rest of us would have let them wallow in it and figure it out for themselves.”

“Ugh, no. We’d have another Sid and Malkin on our hands, assuming Jack ever got over herself enough to get that far. One is enough.”

“Be that as it may,” Carey says with a chuckle and shrugs. “You’re fearless, you know? Everything you went through in Boston, your trade, building a new team…it got you the All Star Game; it got you here.” She hip checks Tyler gently. “You’re always the one telling us to take a risk.”

“Well Marcia,” Tyler interrupts because this level of feeling makes her seriously uncomfortable. She knows her place in the Girl Brigade, she does, and she’s spent a lot of time working to be proud and happy as the shit disturber and gossip magnet, that glamorous older sister Jack had once called her. She doesn’t need Carey to try and make it all better, because it’s no longer broken. “Dani.”

“Dani, like Sid, tries to keep her nose out of other people’s business,” Carey replies like Tyler’s an idiot. “Marcia isn’t encouraging, she’s terrifying.”

Tyler has to give her that one. “Point.”

“You though. It’s like the sister that’s impossible disappoint because they love you too unconditionally to ever make you feel like you’re unsupported.”

Tyler feels the blush rush over her face. “You guys would be fine without me. Hell, there’d be a lot less controversy to weather.”

“We’re better with you,” Carey retorts with an eyeroll. “Controversy and all.” She smiles, this soft enigmatic thing. “I think we’ve all wanted to be you at least once. Bold. Fearless. Unapologetic.”

“Trouble.”

“Not to us,” Carey says. “Not even to Sid or Marcia.”

Tyler blows out a breath. “Pricey, you don’t have to do this, you know? I’m okay.”

“I know. You’re always okay.” She shrugs. “But you make it easy to forget the times when you’re not okay. You make it easy to forget that you’ve had your fair share of trials and tribulations and you’ve cleared the way for the rest of us.”

“Oh my god, stop. I’m not Sid.”

“No. But I think we all know the trade rumours. I think we all remember the days you were a ‘problem child.’”

Tyler winces. Considering the way Carey doesn’t, it had been both a deliberate and successful barb.

“You paid your dues. You went through your own narrative. And you’re still here. So if that isn’t proof that it’s possible to bounce back, I don’t know what is.”

Tyler swallows and looks away. Her face is hot now.

“You spend so much time encouraging and pumping the rest of us up, Segs. Don’t forget you’ve done your own fair share of fighting.”

Tyler blows out a breath. “It doesn’t feel like it’s over.”

Carey’s smile is more than a little cynical and it surprises Tyler. “I’m not sure we ever will.” Carey tightens her arm around Tyler’s waist. “So, we do what Sid says and we take back, right? We do the things that make us happy. Maybe it’s adopting a new dog or getting a new tattoo.”

Tyler laughs, tossing her head back as she does so. She has plans for this year, something to add to her sleeves she thinks. The year she really accepted Dallas as her home.

The year she started accepting herself.

“Or,” Carey says and she sounds nonchalant, but Tyler knows better. “Taking that risk for love.”

The breath Tyler releases is a shuddering one. God, she wishes they’d all just let it the fuck go. “Carey. I can’t, okay? I just….I’ve been trying for so long, I’ve been fighting him on it for so long and I’m so tired. I’m so tired of feeling like I have to justify myself. There are days I can’t breathe with it. I feel…it’s like game seven of a Stanley Cup final, only I can’t find that extra push to get me through.”

Carey makes a sympathetic noise, and fuck everyone who doesn’t think Carey isn’t the best.

“I need him to just…” Tyler huffs out a breath, absently clenches her fist at her side. “Stop.”

“Tyler.”

“No, look,” Tyler says because she’s kind of come to terms with it. At least, as best she can. She knows she can’t change Jamie’s mind and Jamie’s made it clear that no matter what’s between them - and there is a lot between them - dating her isn’t and will never be in the cards. “He doesn’t want me. He doesn’t. If he did, he’d trust me not to do stupid things in bars. He wouldn’t ask if I’m hungover when I’m just fucking exhausted because I play elite level hockey and it’s fucking stressful. I am and always will be a party girl in his eyes and that’s not good enough for him.”

Carey doesn’t say anything for a beat, then two and when Tyler glances over the goalie’s face is hard. “Then you tell him to fuck off.”

Tyler chokes on a laugh. “What?”

“If you really want to let him go, don’t let him think it’s normal. Don’t give him the opportunity to say fuck all about… any part of your life,” Carey says, eyes blazing. “He doesn’t get to control you. He doesn’t get to make you feel bad for being you.”

“Pricey, it’s not that easy-”

Carey, of course, is undeterred. “You wanted hockey, right? When you were little. You wanted hockey.”

“I wanted the NHL.”

“So what did you do?”

“I went out and got it,” Tyler says, a smile sliding slowly over her face because fuck if she’s not proud of what she’s done and where she is. They made the playoffs and she was an integral piece of that puzzle. She can say that now, and believe it. “I worked my fucking ass off and I made it.”

“Fucking right you did,” Carey says decisively. “You did what you wanted. You fucking worked for what you wanted.”

“Carey.” But Tyler’s laughing a little.

“No, look. I know the others have said this but…what you did back there for Jack? What you did for Ryan this summer? That’s you. You make things happen for other people and fuck Jamie Benn if he’s fucking asinine enough to think-”

“‘Asinine,’” Tyler says around a thick swallow. “Five-dollar word.”

“I’ve been doing crosswords,” Carey says imperiously. God, Tyler adores this woman.

“It’s not that easy.”

“No,” Carey allows, but her eyes are still blazing and sure and determined. It makes Tyler swallow again and seriously consider a Post It to remind her that Jamie may not have faith in her, but the Girl Brigade does. The same unwavering faith she has in each of them. “But when was anything worth it ever easy?”

“Point,” Tyler allows yet again.

“Exactly. You want to get over Benn, you do what you need to do. We’re behind you.”

She hugs Carey, can’t help herself. “I love you, you know that?”

Carey’s smile turns a little rueful. “You won’t love me in a few hours if we don’t go our separate ways for our naps.”

“Not that this hasn’t been a fruitful discussion,” Tyler chirps. She slings an arm around Carey again. “But yes. Naps.”

When they get up to their floor, Tyler reaches out for Carey’s wrist. “Thanks.”

“Always.”

And Tyler knows she genuinely means it.

 

She makes a more concerted effort to go out when they’re back in Dallas for the regular season. She spends less time with the Benns, and lets herself… well, she lets herself look, but she also lets herself consider.

Because Tyler likes sex. She doesn’t make a secret of it. She likes sex and she likes parties and she likes being social. Tyler is also willing to admit the things she did in Boston were maybe not the smartest choices she’s ever made in her life.

The thing is, she naturally runs at a higher rev than most. She has more energy, more bounce and needs ways to expend that energy. Part of that is done in the gym or on the ice, but sometimes that doesn’t quiet the humming or the lick of flame beneath her skin.

She’s a young athlete in the peak of physical condition, okay? She has _needs_.

So Tyler goes out and she picks up. She’s not dumb about it and is never really quite as drunk as the rags make her out to be, but she does go out and party. And she does generally go home with someone when she’s in the mood. (It’s never her house. She’d done that once, ended up discovering one of her unwashed sports bras on eBay not long after. Lesson learned.)

And sometimes, when all the stars align, she actually gets to go out on a date.

Which, in her opinion, is the perfect way to balance the really shitty slump the Stars are currently experiencing.

And Tyler still kind of gets a kick out of good southern Texas boys who have no idea who the hell she is but can rattle off the entire Cowboys’ roster. She’s pretty sure it’s something she’ll always find entertaining, since even non-hockey fans in Boston knew who she was by the end of her time there.

Jake is…nice. He shops at her grocery store and drives a pick up and had once asked Tyler about whether salmon or halibut was tastier. She’d been warmly pleased when he’d asked her out.

She’s just strapping some absolutely awesome stilettos to her feet when Jamie’s face pops up on her phone. She sighs. She should let it go to voicemail. She should step back on that horse of letting him go. He doesn’t want her and she has a date. She slides her thumb across the screen to answer. “Hey Benny. I’m just on my way out the door, what’s up?”

There’s a beat and Tyler almost rolls her eyes because of course he doesn’t remember she has date plans. “Shit. Sorry.”

“No worries,” she says and wedges the phone between her ear and her shoulder while she finishes securing her shoes. “You okay, bud?”

“No.”

Tyler knows with absolute clarity what it feels like to be taken into the boards at full speed by a guy bigger and denser than she is. This, the amount of emotion he’s managed to pack into two fucking letters, feels painfully similar. “Oh, Jamie.”

There are a million things she wants to say. She wants to tell him that it’s not his fault (it would be the truth), that he needs to stop taking the responsibility for the team on his own shoulders, but she’s told him that a hundred times now and her heart hurts with how much he doesn’t believe her.

“It’ll get better,” she tries anyway. “It always does. It’s just a slump.”

She hears him snort. “I’m not Crosby. It’s not like I can start a season with a slump and end up with a fucking Cup.”

“Don’t be a drama queen.” But there’s too much softness in her voice and she knows it. “We’ve still got like 70 games.”

“Shouldn’t have played in the World Cup.”

Tyler pinches her thigh, just above the hem of her dress to remind herself to stay calm, stay light. “And disappoint your country?”

“It was the fucking World Cup, Segs. Not the damn Olympics.”

She tries not to let that sting, if only because he doesn’t mean it like that, to imply that somehow making the national team at the World Cup should mean less. “You wanted to play hockey. There’s no harm in that.”

“When it fucks up the season there’s a lot of harm in it.”

“Jameson. It’s ten games. It’s nothing. You know this.” He’s told her this, time and time again through her own slumps, her own insecurities about being on the team. “Look, I really have to go, I’m going to be late, but,” she blows out a breath, “I’ll call you when I’m home, okay? Check in.”

“Sure.”

He doesn’t sound sure and good jesus she doesn’t want to go anymore. She does not want to leave Jamie in this shitty mood while she goes out and has a nice dinner with a nice guy…

Except rule one in getting over Jamie? Don’t let him dictate her life.

The problem is that he’s Jamie. Which means it doesn’t matter that she should be excited and tingling about a date with a guy who will probably actually put out if she smiles pretty and probably without flashing as much leg as she usually does. Jake seems like that type of guy. But Jamie sticks in her head, the morose sound of his voice and the pout she knows would be on his face right now. It sucks because she knows she’s not all here. She fucking knows that and doesn’t know how to fix it.

“You okay?”

Tyler looks up from her menu. Jake’s face is kind, open. He offers her a rueful smile. “Doesn’t feel like you’re here with me.”

Fuck. She knows better. Hell, she fakes this better. She’s in a stellar dress with awesome heels, on an actual, honest-to-god date so she can take steps to get over Jamie… and all she can think about is Jamie.

She squares her shoulders a little. “We’re in a slump. It’s hard.”

Jake shakes his head, but she sees the way his eyes trail over her arms and shoulders. “It’s kind of hot that you could probably take me out.” His eyes widen comically. “Not on a date! Not like… a sugar mama or whatever-”

Tyler laughs. It’s a little bit too hard she knows, and maybe a little bit desperate, but she folds up her menu to reach across the table and squeeze his hand. “Thanks,” she says when she finally catches her breath. “I really needed that.”

The soft look is back in his face now. “Look. We can delay this. If you want.”

“Sorry?”

He shrugs. “If you’re not all here. If there’s something on your mind.”

“No,” she says, but her back is up now. “It happens. It’s fine. I’m… temporarily over it.” She opens her menu again to make a choice, but thirty seconds later she knows she hasn’t read a damn thing.

Fuck you, Jamie Benn.

“You know what,” she says on a sigh and hates herself. She hates herself so much. “We should postpone. I’m sorry.”

“No,” Jake says immediately and even reaches out to squeeze her hand in some sort of weird reassurance thing. “Don’t apologize. I’d rather you be all here, you know?”

“I’m really, really sorry.”

He shrugs and Tyler hates herself a little more.

Actually, she kind of hates Jamie.

Jamie and how stupid in love she is with him. Still.

“Rain check,” she says firmly.

“Sure,” he says peaceably. She hates that it sounds like he doesn’t believe her, but it’s entirely overshadowed by the worry and fucking feelings climbing up her throat.

She’s going to murder Jamie Benn in cold blood, fuck everything.

She’s still kind of stewing as she throws herself into her car and drives on autopilot to Jamie’s. She makes one stop, a cursory one to snatch up his favourite beer and tries to keep from judging herself. She’s helping a friend. Her _captain_. Even if the fact that she can’t fucking stop herself from being in love with him means she ditched a date with a perfectly respectable guy because he’s fucking sulking...

Kill him.

Kill her.

She pounds on his door incessantly until he swings it open with a grumble and just barely manages to avoid punching him in the face by pulling back at the last minute.

He blinks at her. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“What are you doing here?”

She hoists the box. “Bringing you beer.”

“You had a date.”

She shrugs and pushes by him. “Couldn’t focus on him. You know how it is.”

“It’s your first date in a long time. Like…real date.”

She knows that, thanks. She leans against the wall to take off her awesome fucking shoes that are now going to waste and heads for the kitchen, beer in tow. She’s popped one open by the time Jamie shows up in the doorway. “Yeah well. If it’s not my points it’s my goal scoring, if it’s not my nutrition it’s my fitness, if it’s not a slump, it’s the next win. Too much to focus on.”

“A next win would be nice.”

Tyler blows out a breath and drinks some more. “You know, he knew something was up.”

“Huh?”

“Jake. My date. He knew I wasn’t all there.”

“You’re, uh. Not subtle about it.” He offers her a weird sort of smile that Tyler, who is generally so good at reading Jamie, can’t understand. “You kind of wear your heart on your sleeve.”

Fuck. She drinks again, guzzles is kind of more like it. Jamie doesn’t say a thing, though he does reach for his own beer. She plunks the bottle on the counter and sucks in a deep breath. Then, when she thinks she’s ready, when she thinks she can look at him without wanting to kill him for just… being Jamie, she does so. “We’re going to be fine, you know.”

“Huh?”

“The team. The slump. It’s going to work out. It always does.”

Jamie runs a hand through his hair and drinks a little more himself. “Doesn’t feel like it. Feels like we made it so fucking far last year to make a mess of this season.”

She will never, ever tell him how grateful she is that he can be so distracted by his own hockey. “Benny, it’s ten games.”

“Ten games we’d won eight of last season.”

“Who the hell have you been talking to, the stats guys? Have you been reading press again?” Jamie glares. Tyler rolls her eyes and picks up a new beer. “Come on. I’ve got a great way to decompress.” She makes herself grin at him, the carefree one she’d perfected too many years ago on a different team when everything hurt like this, and at the same time didn’t feel remotely the same. “I’ll kick your ass at NHL.”

Jamie squawks and darts around her for what he always says is ‘the good controller.’ They drink and play videogames and Tyler hunts down a snack in his kitchen (because, after all, she’d left before dinner) and they drink and play some more. Eventually, Jamie’s barely able to move his skaters around and he’s listing into her side. “Alright buddy, looks like you’ve had enough.”

“No. M’good.”

“Uh huh. You want to try a straight line for me?” Instead, he mashes his face into her shoulder. Tyler feels her face going fond. “Come on Benny. Up to bed.”

It doesn’t take much more urging to make him go. She goes with him down the hall, leans against the doorframe and watches him strip off his t-shirt and shove his sweatpants to the floor. Then he faceplants on the bed.

Tyler snorts. “Even Dallas isn’t warm enough for that shit, you idiot.”

Jamie groans into his pillow and Tyler sighs. “Pretty sure this is supposed to be your job.” But she pulls up the covers after a minor wrestling match and tucks him in. She’s not nearly intoxicated enough not to make it home in one piece, but as she opens her mouth to say goodnight, he cracks an eye open and flails out an uncoordinated hand to grab her wrist.

“Stay.”

She shouldn’t. She’s fine to go home and he’s going to need his space because Jesus is he hell hungover. But he tugs insistently and Tyler knows she can’t say no. Not after she left her date to play cheer up squad, even if it’s definitely a step back in getting over him.

He whines when she breaks his grip easily and she rolls her eyes, reaching under her arm for the zipper of her dress. It doesn’t take her long to snatch a t-shirt from his drawers and she wiggles her bra out from beneath it. Then she climbs over him to get to the empty side of the bed and wraps her arms around Jamie’s spare pillow. “Don’t puke on me in the middle of the night,” she warns him.

He does puke in the middle of the night, though he makes it to the bathroom to do so. Tyler listens carefully, her eyes still closed until he comes back and climbs beneath the covers. She feels the warmth of his hand settle not far from her shoulder and valiantly resists curling towards it. She can’t do that to herself when he’s still drunk. She shouldn’t do it to herself at all.

It’s another beat, another breath, like he’s testing to see if she’s really asleep, before his hand reaches out and brushes so, so softly against her arm. It takes each piece of her self-control to avoid reacting as he takes her hand, curled beneath the blankets between them. The sigh he releases then is warm and Tyler forcefully shoves back the hope that he’s glad she’s here with him, shuts up the hopeful voice that’s been humming there for years that maybe this will be it. Maybe this is the moment he’ll finally realize she’s the one he wants, first and foremost and from now until forever.

She wakes up to Jamie crawling back into bed again and cracks her eyes open just a little.

“Morning,” she hears him say and she buries her face in the pillow for a moment.

“Morning,” she replies eventually. “Breakfast?”

“You can get it yourself. You know where everything is.” She feels him flop to the bed. “And I am hungover.”

“No shit. I can’t even remember how much you drank last night, and I was pretty close to sober.” Tipsy at most. She knows her limits. She squirms when he buries his face in her pillow, in the scant bit of space between her face and her shoulder. “No,” she whines. “Make me breakfast. I tucked your very drunk ass in last night.”

“We are not even close to tied on drunken tuck-ins, Seggy,” Jamie snorts and she can hear the little grin in his voice. “And here I thought I’d forgotten how demanding you are when you’re hungover. Your date doesn’t know what he’s getting into.”

Her stomach twists painfully because she’s not hungover. She hadn’t even been drunk. It hurts even more after everything. After she’d left her date and dragged her ass over last night because he’s in the middle of a slump so early in the season and he’d needed comfort. After the way he’d curled into her side and wrapped his hand around hers as they slept and still….he still doesn’t see her as real girlfriend material. Not for the squeaky clean Jamie Benn.

And even though she’d been working to start getting over him, even though she had a plan, she knows now, without a doubt that she can’t do this. She can’t keep pretending the fact that he doesn’t want her hurts. Terribly.   

“Hey whoa, what are you doing?”

She barely flicks a glance over her shoulder, already stripping off his shirt and reaching for her dress. “Leaving.”

“What? Why? I was kidding, you know that.”

“Do I?” she asks and there’s no anger, not even in the quick slide of her zipper up her side. There’s sadness and a kind of blankness that she hates because she’s a damn emotional person by nature. Resignation, she thinks she may call it, if it were coming out of anyone else’s mouth.

“Segs. Tyler. Of course you do.”

Her hand comes up to knead at her forehead. “You know what, Jamie? I really don’t. I really, really don’t know anymore.” She finally looks at him head on. There’s terror in his face and it’s the first time she’s entirely unmoved by it. “A month ago, a week ago, a day ago, before I ditched a date because you were having a bad night...I would have known. I would have trusted that you were teasing me, that you didn’t mean it.”

“Tyler-”

But her hand comes up and Jamie stops dead, standing now, facing her across the mattress. “I can’t do that anymore, Jamie. I can’t keep…hanging off the end of this fishing line or whatever awesome cliche explains that I’m done waiting for you.”

His face goes white. Absolutely white.

“I tried, you know? Really hard. Because, fuck, Jamie you have to know you’re it for me. You have to. I know you know that.” Because she wears her heart on her sleeve. He even said it himself.

He swallows. For Tyler, who has been reading him for years, it’s more than enough of an admission.

“Yeah.” She shrugs, and it’s probably a little more self-deprecating than she wishes, considering this isn’t about her. She’s not sure it ever was. Instead, she gathers up all her courage. “You know where I am. You know what I want, but I’m done waiting for you to get a clue when you didn’t fucking need one in the first place.”

She doesn’t flounce out the door and she doesn’t stop. There’s a deceptive calmness to the movements, a measured pace as she pads down the stairs and scoops up her shoes. She doesn’t know how she drives to Jordie’s without losing it on the road, without crashing. She just lets herself in, hears the thumping of something in the kitchen and there’s Jordie, pulling orange juice out of the fridge.

“Jesus fuck you scared the shit out of me you little- Tyler?”

Her vision blurs and she knows what’s coming next. Jordie’s got her arms around Tyler a split-second later, close and tight and she breaks. Jordie’s voice is a quiet murmur in her ear. Tyler has no idea what she’s saying and she doesn’t care. She doesn’t even realize Jordie’s muscling her up the stairs and into her room until Jordie’s got her on the bed. Jordie doesn’t let her go, holds her close and tight until Tyler cries herself to sleep.

 

“Jamie, no.”

“Come on, Jordie. You have to let me see her.”

“No, actually. I don’t.” And Jordie’s voice is firm and sounds closer than Tyler would like. Tyler buries her face in Jordie’s pillow gratefully.

“It’s _Tyler_.”

“Exactly.” She sounds angry now, frustrated and upset and just as done as Tyler feels, though likely less empty. “Exactly, Jamie, this is Tyler. The Tyler you’ve been in love with for what feels like ever.”

Tyler’s not sure she’s ever heard Jordie so frustrated with Jamie, not even during the Bunch Mox Scandal.

“I told you. I’ve been telling you and you didn’t listen. Not once did you listen to me and now…I can’t blame her. You _hurt_ her. You broke her heart.” Okay, that’s a little dramatic. Not wrong, but definitely dramatic. “So now, you do what every good person in the world does and you give her space. You walk away and you figure out what the fuck you want.”

“You’re my sister!”

“And I love you. Dearly.” Tyler can tell by Jordie’s tone that she’s not budging despite the betrayal in Jamie’s voice. “And it’s because I love you that I’m telling you to _back off_. Step back and think about it. I’m going to stand between you until you figure out what you want because she deserves that. Tyler deserves that.”

“She deserves everything,” Jamie says and Tyler feels tears spring to her eyes again because she knows he believes it. She just can’t figure out why _he’s_ not included in that.

“And yet you’ve been jerking her around. No, you have. You treat her like a girlfriend and then basically tell her she can’t be that for you. I’ve let it slide because…” She makes a noise of frustration. “Because I always figured it was just a matter of time, that you’d never be stupid enough to actually-”

Tyler’s had enough. It’s not Jordie’s place, no matter how much Tyler certainly appreciates the support. Her head spins when she stands. She’s going to need about three bottles of water given how much she cried. She stumbles out of Jordie’s room. They are indeed in the hall, at the top of Jordie’s stairs and they both shut up fast when they see her.

“Tyler-”

But Tyler ignores Jamie and sucks in a deep breath as she looks at Jordie. “I’m going to head home.”

“You sure?” Jordie asks. “You’re welcome to stay.”

“I know.” But she needs to be at home. She needs Cash and Marshall and her bed, her creature comforts. She needs to be able to lock her door and not come out unless she absolutely has to.

She hugs Jordie, goes as far as to smack a grateful kiss against her cheek. “I’ll see you at practice.”

She doesn’t acknowledge Jamie. She can’t and she’ll never ask what Jordie does to keep him from following her. It isn’t until she’s climbed in her car that she pulls out her phone.

 _thanks_ , she types to Jordie.

 _always_ , is Jordie’s immediate response. _my idiot brother._

Tyler sighs, feels the tears well up again. _i don’t know about that._

Because right now she feels like the idiot. She feels like the holdout. How could she have seriously thought after all of this time that Jamie would want to keep her? After all of the cracks, all of the comments, and yet she knows she’s still irrevocably in love with him.

No, she’s definitely the idiot here for being so blind.

Her heart breaks again over her steering wheel and she can’t move for more than a few moments, paralyzed by the sobs that are loud and terrible in the confined silence of her car. Her knuckles are white as she gasps, as she tries to get some semblance of breath so she can just go home. She needs this day to be over, yesterday.

She makes it home through a haze of tears and collapses gratefully in the entry with Cash and Marshall. They lick away the tears and swarm her when she staggers to the couch. A couple episodes of _Jessica Jones_ later, her phone chimes.

It’s Sharpy. _Are we still on for dinner tonight?_

Her head falls back against the couch. She’s pretty sure she can’t take an evening of Sharpy and Abby’s domestic bliss, not today. She puzzling out a plausible excuse when her phone blips again. _The girls are really excited to see you and the dogs. Shooter is too, even though he’ll never admit it._

And hell, that’s not playing fair. Tyler adores those girls and the thought of disappointing them is enough to make her feel ill. _we r in,_ she writes back. _what should I bring?_

_One of your nice bottles of wine won’t go amiss._

Friggin’ Sharpy. Who the hell says _amiss_ nowadays?

When she pulls up to the Sharp residence, the first thing she does is let Cash and Marshall into the backyard. It’s always better to let them work off some of their energy and excitement before they see the girls.

“Tyler!” Sadie shrieks when she steps inside the house, going into a full sprint and launching herself in her arms. Tyler only just manages to turn and scoop her up with one arm, the other still holding the wine bottle.

“Sadie,” Abby scolds. “You know you’re not supposed to run in the house.” She liberates the wine from Tyler and presses a kiss to her cheek. “We’re glad you could make it tonight. Go on back, Maddie’s just taken Shooter out to greet the dogs. You can make sure Patrick’s not burning the steaks.”

“Are you sure you don’t need help?” she asks, following Abby in. She’s kind of a disaster in the kitchen if she’s left to her own devices, but she can follow instructions.

Sadie bounces impatiently on her hip. “Wanna see Marsh’ and Cash!”

Abby raises an eyebrow. “And what you do say?”

Sadie pouts a little bit and hides her face in Tyler’s shoulder. Tyler’s heart promptly melts. “Please Tyler, can we go see Marsh’ and Cash?”

“Of course we can.” It’s a good thing Abby’s there, because she’s pretty sure these girls can ask her for anything and she’ll cave. Trust Abby and Sharpy to have the most adorable, irresistible girls ever.

Abby waves them on. “Go, go. Everything is prepped here, it just needs to be taken outside. The girls have been dying to see you.”

Maddie squeals when Tyler steps out into the backyard and throws her arms around her legs, hugging tight. “Tyler!”

“Hey Maddie-girl, what’s up?” She easily scoops Maddie in her other arm, though she feels like that won’t be the case soon. The girl is growing like a weed. All three dogs are now bouncing around the three of them, barking excitedly. “Heya Shooter!”

“Looks like you have a children and dog problem, Segs,” Sharpy calls from the grill.

She snorts. “You call this a problem? I call it heaven.” Her misgivings about coming are slowly fading away in the face of the two girls and three dogs. Maddie wriggles in her arms and she lets her down so that she can play, and Sadie’s not far after her. “Abby says not to burn the steaks.”

He clutches a hand over his heart. “One time, _one time_ and she never lets me forget it. I am a grill master now, thank you very much.”

“ _Sure_ you are.”

Dinner is fantastic, sitting outside with Abby and Sharpy and the girls, with the dogs draped over her feet. Maddie insists on Tyler being there when Abby puts them to bed, so she helps with baths and pajama time and bedtime stories.

By the time she and Abby make it back downstairs, Sharpy has already cleaned up and has the rest of the wine set up for them in the backyard.

“You’re the best, babe,” Abby says, planting a kiss on his cheek as she goes by. Tyler pushes back the stab of envy and settles into her own seat. She probably takes a bigger gulp of wine than she should, judging by Sharpy’s raised eyebrows.

“Everything okay lately, Segs?”

“Why do you ask?”

He shrugs. “Oh, I don’t know, we’ve had a bit of a slump and the captain hasn’t been doing very well. It can’t be easy for you and Jordie to wrangle him.”

The laugh she lets out sounds semi-hysterical, and causes Marshall to whine and nudge her knee. “Please, can we not talk about Benny right now?”

“Uh-oh,” Abby intones. “Has something happened?”

Tyler will blame the fact that Abby’s voice is so soft and understanding, that Sharpy looks the same way, and that she’s feeling so down and vulnerable that it all comes spilling out. By time she’s finished, Sharpy has topped up her wineglass two times and retrieved another bottle of wine from somewhere.

Abby looks like she’s that close to cracking her knuckles. “Oh, I’m going to kill him, I don’t care if he’s your captain, Patrick.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s Jordie’s job, dear.” Sharpy is slumped back against his seat, his eyes dancing devilishly. It’s definitely at odds with his mild, placating tone.

She nods. “Well, I’m in line after Jordie, then. He has absolutely no right to string you along like that, Tyler.” Her indignation is exactly along the lines of how the Girl Brigade would react, and predictably, that gets her teary. She has sisters, but having people like Ryan, Jordie, Sid, and now Abby act this way...it’s a lot to take in sometimes.

The older woman notices, of course, and her face transforms into that odd blend of fierce protectiveness that Dani gets for them sometimes. “Oh, Tyler. Come here.” She leans forward and gathers Tyler in her arms, running her fingers through her hair and humming. “I swear, Patrick, just leave me alone with Jamie for a few minutes…”

“I won’t argue that he’s an idiot,” Sharpy says. “But I also feel for him - ah, ah, let me finish, all right?” He holds up his hands when Abby hisses at him and Tyler gives him a wounded look. “All I’m saying is that we’re men, and it’s very easy for us to get scared. And when we’re scared, we act stupid. Abby can confirm this.”

“It’s true, he was an idiot. Still is, sometimes”

“Right.” He sticks his tongue out at her. “So what I’m saying is that he needs a little time. Time where he will come to realize that being with you is a hell of a lot more important than whatever reasoning he’s come up with that is holding him back.”

Tyler snorts, and if it comes out a little wet both Sharpy and Abby ignore it. “That’s easy. I’m not girlfriend material.”

“See, idiot,” Sharpy says over Abby’s growl. “You play amazing hockey, you love dogs, you play with our daughters. For god’s sake, you buy a box for kids with spinal injuries. You’ve become a wonderful role model and a great person in general, so what else does he want?”

She flushes because the words “good role model” have rarely been used in conjunction with herself.

“Clearly, a brain,” Abby mutters and oh, this is another surreal moment because Abby is rarely anything but completely composed.

“He’ll have time to grow one.” Sharpy grins. “That doesn’t mean I can’t give him a hard time in the interim, though.”

 

It turns out, Sharpy’s not the only one determined to make Jamie’s life difficult. Thanks to Jordie, everyone in the Girl Brigade knows that Tyler and Jamie have had a falling out. In true Girl Code fashion, their response is loud and emphatic, both in the group chat and on the ice.

Tyler could call them off. She probably should, because they’re on the same team and he’s her captain but...the small, petty side of her admits that she wants to see him hurting so long as it doesn’t affect how they play.

The first one to come down on him is perhaps the most surprising. Steph doesn’t fight and never has. For one thing, anyone caught messing with her immediately finds himself run down by Weber, followed closely by Josi. The second is that she’s so calm and poised that all that shit just seems to roll off her.

 _Calm_ and _poised_ doesn’t describe the woman who knocks Jamie off his feet the very first time their shifts coincide. Steph stands over him briefly before she takes off with the puck and when Jamie gets back up, the look on his face is nothing short of befuddled. That look is immediately replaced by frustration the second time around, when Steph shoves him into the boards. By the third and fourth times, he works himself up to a towering rage, circling around her when he finds his footing once more.

They’re close enough to the bench that Tyler can hear the grim determination in Steph’s voice. “You wanna go, Benn? Then let’s go.” She firmly ignores Ellis’ frantic tugging at the back of her jersey, her eyes dark and focused. Both Weber and Josi are seconds away from coming over the boards themselves, while the rest of the Predators can’t seem to believe that their princess is no angel. Tyler would be laughing at the whole damn thing if she didn’t feel so miserable.

“If you fight her Jamie, I will fucking kill you,” Jordie roars from further down the bench, looking like she’s also ready to hop over the boards at the slightest provocation.

“Stay out of it Jordie!” Jamie and Steph say in unison. Steph, however, glances at Tyler when she says it, and Jamie follows her gaze. His eyes widen when everything clicks and again, in any other situation Tyler would feel bad for the absolute betrayal she sees reflected there. But all she can manage is numbness, maybe a fierce flush of pride in Steph and what she’s trying to say. She can’t even muster a token protest in Jamie’s defense.

Whatever it is, it makes Jamie back down. He shakes his head slowly and allows the linesmen to come between them. Steph snarls wordlessly and makes an abortive move forward, but Forsberg is there to help Ellis herd her back to the Predators’ bench.

The Stars still manage to take the win. Tyler wishes they could have a night out in Nashville (and she thinks about the All-Star Game with more than a little wistfulness), but they’re flying out to Pittsburgh. Still, Steph is waiting outside the visitor’s locker room as they leave, her expression set and mulish.

“I would have fought him,” she mutters.

Tyler laughs, ignoring how hysterical it sounds, and pulls her in for a tight hug. “I know. I know you got my back, Jonesy.” It’s not like she wants to see a fight, but knowing that the girls would do that for her is pretty humbling. Not that she would ever say that out loud, knowing that they would kick _her_ ass for that presumption.

“You know I do, Segs.” Her voice pitches louder. “ _Someone_ has to.”

Tyler doesn’t even have to turn around to know that Jamie’s there. She just sighs, squeezes Steph a little harder, then steps away so that Jordie can hug her, too. “See you soon, Jonesy.”

The trend continues in Pittsburgh, but Sid doesn’t fight. No, she just makes sure that every single goal she gets is on Jamie’s icetime. And each time she scores, she looks straight at Jamie. It’s one hundred percent Sid and it’s one hundred percent effective because he droops just that little bit more, forcing the rest of the team to pick up the slack. Unfortunately, when Sid’s in that kind of mood it ignites the rest of her team, and the Stars are sent packing.

From there it’s on to Buffalo, where Jack takes almost savage pleasure in playing as roughly against Jamie as possible, even though there are very few times when their lines actually match up. At that point, the rest of the Stars have caught on and well...Tyler doesn’t blame them for being confused. Eaks in particular has a funny look on his face each time he shoves Jack away from an unprotesting Jamie. They all know it’s not like Jamie to let this kind of thing slide, but Jamie’s not telling and neither is Tyler.

The final straw is in New York. Tyler knows the gleam in Marcia’s eyes and figures that in true Marcia style, she has something absolutely nasty cooked up.

“You fucked up, Benn.” Marcia sounds nothing but cheerful behind Tyler in the faceoff circle, and she can practically feel the unease that ripples around the rest of the Stars. “And I’m going to tell you exactly how.”

This isn’t exactly the reaction Tyler expected. Marcia has never backed down from a fight. Her reputation for dropping the gloves is well known, and her track record of winning even more so. Tyler kind of expected a challenge right out of the gate. Instead, she corners Jamie every single time their shifts coincide, and whatever she says is so effective that soon he flinches every time he spots her coming.

Needless to say, it’s not very good for their play. The Stars are down by one in the third period with absolutely no points on the board from her line, and honestly, she’s just about had it.

Then she overhears Marcia. “Come on, Benn.” Her tone is viciously satisfied. “I should have known you’d be a fucking coward about this. You can’t expect to just break Seggy’s heart and get away with it.”

“I fucking get it, Staal, now just-” Jamie’s face is pinched and white.

“Do you?” Marcia circles around him, planting herself in his path. “I don’t think you do, because if you did you would have realized just how much she loves you and you just...what? String her along because of your own damn insecurity?”

Jamie flushes and pivots to face her and fuck, they probably are going to fight. Tyler sees Marcia bare her teeth and suddenly she’s just _tired_. It doesn’t matter what anyone does, because nothing they do will make him decide that his feelings for her are suddenly worth acting on.

She’s tired of hoping. She’s tired of fighting. She is just so goddamn _tired._ “Enough,” she snaps, skating between them. “No more, Marcia. I’m calling you guys off. It’s not worth it anymore.” She can see Jamie in her peripheral vision and the way all the blood drains from his face, leaving him looking small and terrified in a way she’s only ever seen across his mattress before she’d walked out.

Tyler cannot bring herself to care.

“Segs-” Marcia protests.

“ _Enough_. Now play.” She skates away, feeling blessedly numb. She goes through the rest of the game on autopilot and cannot even seem to dredge up any feeling when they can’t equalize and end up losing the game by one goal.

It’s no surprise to find Marcia waiting outside the visitor’s locker room, but even Tyler is somewhat taken aback when the older woman looks at her from head to toe, shakes her head, and reaches for her bag. “I know you’re not leaving until tomorrow. You’re coming over to my house tonight, no arguments.” She glances over Tyler’s shoulder. “You too, Jordie.”

“I’ll get our stuff from the hotel and meet you there,” Jordie promises. “Now go.”

Lindsay is laying out food and alcohol when they come in, and her smile is sympathetic as she comes over to give Tyler a hug. “I know she can be overbearing, but she means well,” she whispers, and grins when a timer goes off in the kitchen. “That will be the cookies - and before you protest, you can at least have one, okay?”

Tyler just nods, a little stunned, and jumps a little when Marcia shoves a tumbler of whisky into her hand. “Drink,” she commands. “I’m getting you trashed tonight.”

“Within reason!” Lindsay calls from the kitchen.

Marcia rolls her eyes, but a corner of her mouth tugs upwards. “Within reason, of course.”

“Why are you doing this?” Tyler asks, settling down onto the couch. She and Marcia have never been particularly close, even though everyone expected them to, being the most outgoing and gregarious of the Girl Brigade.

Marcia shrugs, dumping her suit jacket. “It’s what we do, isn’t it?” She bites her lip, clearly uncomfortable and Tyler is fascinated despite everything. It’s so utterly unlike her. “And okay, maybe I’m also trying to make up for how I reacted during the whole Boston thing.”

Tyler winces because that had been one of the most terrifying visits of her life. “That was years ago though.”

“Still doesn’t excuse my behavior. I treated you like one of my brothers when they screw up, and that really wasn’t the way to go about it.” She pours herself a generous amount of whisky and holds it up, grinning wryly. “So the plan is to ply you with what food and drink you want and to be silently supportive. What do you think?”

She blinks. This is definitely a side of Marcia she’s never seen before. She should have realized there’s more to her - hell, Jordie says it all the time.

And she did stand up for her, even if she did take it a little too far.

Tyler grins and taps her glass against Marcia’s. “Get wrecked.”

By the time it’s ‘Ryan’s turn’, Ryan doesn’t fight Jamie. Ryan doesn’t even wait until they’re on the ice, and Tyler’s about ninety-eight percent sure that Ryan is the only woman that would ignore Tyler’s edict to leave Jamie alone. Because very few women of the Girl Brigade had been in the NHL during what Tyler can now refer to as her ‘unhealthy’ years in Boston, and even then, Ryan had been the first to really _notice_ , the first to really push. Tyler’s never confessed in so many words how much it means now and what it had meant then, but the way they talk and the consistency with which they talk says she doesn’t have to.

The fact that Tyler was Ryan’s fucking maid of honour says Tyler doesn’t have to say a word.

That doesn’t mean she necessarily likes Ryan showing up at her place and all but shouldering her into the door to get in. Tyler glares, but closes the door before looking back to Ryan, crouched on the floor to give her love to Cash and Marshall.

“Yeah, sure, come on in.”

“Thanks,” Ryan says unapologetically, and whomever says Ryan isn’t a little shit is lying. Or Hall and Eberle are spoiling her, letting her get away with so much all the time. Tyler resolves to talk to them.

Ryan pushes herself up and wipes her hands on her t-shirt. “Dallas looks good on you Segs.”

It’s something Ryan’s been saying for years, since they first played each other following Tyler’s trade to the Stars. It usually makes Tyler smile, makes her heart feel warm.

Not this time, though.

Ryan’s head tilts to the side. “It has looked better though.”

Tyler tries to shrug, but she can tell by the look on Ryan’s face she’s having no part of it. She still seems to have the courtesy of waiting until they’re settled on either end of Tyler’s couch before saying, “You don’t talk about Benn in the group chat anymore.”

Like that isn’t the very tip of the iceberg Tyler is well aware Ryan knows about. “Things change.”

“Not those things,” Ryan answers quietly, like it’s the first time she’s heard that Tyler and Jamie are on the outs. “I know what being in love looks like.”

Tyler hates that it brings tears to her eyes, hates how much she’s cried over Jamie fucking Benn. “Yeah, well. It’s, uh…not something in the cards for me,” she repeats for the millionth time. “So.”

Tyler blinks at the floor even as she feels Ryan tangle their feet together. “You know he’s stupid, right?”

“So everyone says,” Tyler sniffles. “But he’s also right, Nuge. What kind of girlfriend material am I?”

“Okay, _no_.”

Tyler would argue, she has a long list of arguments for this conversation given the number of times she’s had it, but she’s also never heard that homicidal tone in Ryan’s voice. Not even when the Boston media was really eviscerating her prior to moving to Dallas. Ryan’s face isn’t much better when Tyler finally looks at her.

“Look. Here’s the thing: you enjoy going out. You enjoy partying and you enjoy sex. There is nothing fucking wrong with that Tyler. Not a damn thing. It wasn’t wrong in Boston and it sure as fuck isn’t wrong here.”

“It was totally wrong in Boston. You said it yourself.”

Ryan huffs. “The reason you were doing it was wrong. Doing it? No. Of course it isn’t wrong. Not because you just so happen to be female.”

“Nuge you don’t-”

“Get it? No. You’re right. I don’t. I don’t understand how you can’t see the woman you’ve become here in Dallas. I don’t understand why your past, in Boston and here, are held over your head like strikes against you. I don’t understand why the hell Jamie Benn is a fucking moron.”

Tyler sucks in a breath. “You talked to Jordie.”

“You weren’t ever going to tell me.” But Tyler gets the sense that out of all of the women, Ryan would need the context. She’d need every damn detail and she’d be like a dog with a damn bone until she got it. And Jordie would have been more than happy to spill the beans.

“But here’s the thing, here’s the _perfect_ thing: you partied with Marchand. And we both know who got the attention there. Here? There isn’t a single person talking about how you’ve thrived on the Stars without referring to that ‘regrettable,’” and fuck, she uses air quotes and everything, “time in Boston. Jesus, Ty, you consistently make the All Star team. You made the fucking World Cup team this year and you _killed_ _it_ on that team.”

Ryan reaches out and grips Tyler’s ankle. “You built you. Who you are now, who you were then…don’t you dare let fucking Jamie Benn make you feel like less than who you are, do you fucking hear me? You’re the one who told me I was good enough for Hallsy and Ebs. So I’m here saying you’re _better_ than good enough for Jamie Benn and fuck him if he wants to be an asshole about it.”

Tyler tilts her head back, but reaches out to wrap her hand around Ryan’s wrist. “I’m so in love with him.”

“I know.”

“He’s not in love with me.”

“That’s bullshit. I’ve seen the interviews. I watch your games. That’s not a fluke or simple chemistry. Not the way he talks about you.”

“Then why-” She stops herself. She has to because she sounds so small.

“We both know there’s a million other logical reasons for why he’s an idiot,” Ryan offers quietly. “But a relationship like yours doesn’t develop like this without something else there.”

Tyler’s resulting laugh is painful. “Do you know how many times he’s implied I’m not girlfriend material?” she asks, even though Ryan probably knows. Jordie probably told her. “Do you know how many ways he’s told me he doesn’t think I can commit to anything that’s not hockey?”

“Jamie’s hockey.”

“Sometimes I think he’s better than hockey.”

Ryan snorts. “Jesus, you really are gone. I don’t think Hallsy and Ebs are better than hockey. I’m pretty sure even Sid doesn’t think Geno is better than hockey and she thinks Geno’s better than all of us.”

It’s a blatant lie, but Tyler is weirdly grateful for the support. “What am I supposed to do?”

Ryan squeezes Tyler’s ankle until it hurts, until Tyler opens her eyes ready to tell her to fuck right off, they still have to play hockey tonight. The minute she looks at Ryan though, Ryan’s grip relaxes and she unwittingly repeats Carey’s sentiment from the World Cup. “You go out there and you be exactly who the fuck you are. You go play hockey like a leading scorer. You put that fucking puck in the back of the net and you go out tonight and tear it up. Because you are Tyler Seguin and that is what you do.”

 

So she does. Game after game, she goes out onto that ice and leaves everything out there. Sometimes she goes out with the guys afterwards (she always goes out with the women, no matter the woman, no matter the city, no matter the win or loss), sometimes she stays in. She doesn’t pick up, not because she doesn’t want to but because when she has down time, she goes to the gym.

She runs with Cash and Marshall, she swims in her pool, spends time with the Sharps and lets Jordie, even Jason sometimes, invade without much of a fight. She listens to Steph mope over Josi after her trade and even concocts the most epic social media plan since they don’t play Nashville when he breaks her heart.

She does what she does.

It’s exhausting.

 _u could talk 2 him,_ Brenda offers in the group chat once when Tyler gets chirped for spending another night in her hotel room rather than out with the Stars.

 _Because that worked for you and Chucky_ , Carey fires back. _I remember the pining_.

_shut up, u were dating subs n didnt know._

Tyler sighs and yanks her blazer off, picks at the buttons of her blouse. She doesn’t want to do this again.

 _Leave her alone,_ Dani says. _There’s nothing wrong with choosing to spend a night in._

 _if u want to party u should,_ Mike’s text says. _it’s ur thing._

Tyler rolls her eyes. _oh, thanks latts_.

 _Enough,_ is Ryan’s contribution. _Segs, if you’re staying in because you want to, have at it. If you’re staying in to clean up your image, you know what I’m going to say._

Go fuck yourself, is what Ryan’s going to say, because Ryan has been her staunchest defender since she stopped really going out but will not stand by while Tyler broods herself into actual depression.

 _I can still beat him up_ , Marcia offers. _Didn’t get to when you were here last._

 _did ur damage tho,_ Jack offers. _i didnt even get anything out of him._

Tyler growls and tosses her phone on the bed. She tries to ignore it, but when it’s still buzzing away after her shower, she flicks on the do not disturb and plugs it in across the room. No one’s going to need her tonight anyway.

Except, apparently, someone does. She sighs and checks her phone first and sees that a couple of the guys have texted. The knock sounds again.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” She’s preparing her argument against going out as she yanks the thing open to reveal… “Benny.”

He blinks at her, stunned and Tyler just…can’t. She still can’t do this and she feels very, very bad for how she dealt with the whole Steph and Josi thing if this is even a fraction of how Steph felt.

“Hi.”

She wants to cross her arms over her chest. She wants to punch him. She also wants to kiss him and drop to her knees and blow him until he agrees that this is everything. God, what’s wrong with her? “Hi.”

He stands there, awkward as ever and Tyler hates that she still finds it cute.

She sighs. “Benny - Jamie…I-”

“Look I- I fucked up, Ty. I really, really, really fucked up.”

He snaps his mouth shut. It’s all but audible and Tyler finds herself praying for strength. She sucks in a deep breath and forces herself to meet his eyes. She doesn’t want to do this. She really, really, with every piece of her heart and soul does not want to do this. But that’s not at all what she says.

“For real?” she asks softly, “You really want to do this when we have a game tomorrow?”

She lets him sit on it for a beat, then two and can’t honestly say she’s not surprised by the determination that washes over his face. “Yes.”

And Tyler…Tyler still can’t say no. So she backs up into the room and lets him in, leaning against the door as he paces to the window and turns on his heel. “I fucked up.”

“You’ve said that already.”

“Segs- Tyler-”

Tyler can feel her shoulders slumping. It’s not that she felt like this conversation was going to magically turn things around. She’s very aware she basically just let him into her hotel room to rip her heart out. Again. She presses her palms flat against the door and says, “Just say it, Jamie.”

There’s nothing for a moment, and when she looks up he seems so confused. Except he’s the one who came here, to do exactly this. She shoves away from the door and forces herself to stand tall. She knows what’s coming. She can take this. In fact, she can do better than take it.

Because she is Tyler Seguin and _she_ is the one in control.

“I get it, you know? I do. I...I probably wouldn’t want to date me either. Not exclusively. Not forever.” She tips her chin up, daring him to agree with her. Maybe this is something she needs to hear, the final piece that gets her over him.

“Stop it,” Jamie whispers.

“I mean, why would you? I’m not the commitment type. I sleep around. A lot. In Boston or in Dallas, it doesn’t matter. The only thing I’ve ever committed to in my life is hockey, right?”

“Segs, stop.”

Her back hurts from how straight it is, how tense she is, but she’s not finished yet. “Boston wouldn’t even keep me because I’m such a party girl. Because it’s all I do and it’s who I am and no one wants that long term. It’s not the type of girl you bring home to meet your mom, tatted up and hungover more days than she’s not.”

“ _Tyler_.”

He sounds angry and Tyler wants it to mean something. She really, really wants it to mean something. Because to anyone else, for anyone else, she’d be proud of a lot of those things. She’s proud of her tattoos, about her unapologetic way of going about life. She knows Jordie and Ryan and even Sid, Dani and Marcia, fucking Carey, are all proud of her for owning that too. But not Jamie. Never Jamie. It hurts that his opinion matters so much. “Well? You know I’m right.”

“My mom loves you.”

Tyler rolls her eyes.

Jamie releases a sound that is definitely self-deprecating and it tugs on her heartstrings in ways she absolutely hates. “You know, she’s been passive-aggressively texting me for months about ‘that nice Tyler girl?’”

“Jamie-”

“She has. Jenny’s been giving me so much shit.”

“Why are you dragging this out? Can you just tell me you don’t want me and leave?” She means for it to come out strong, but there’s a small, plaintive thread there she can’t seem to get rid of.

It takes a moment while he watches her, takes her in like he’s evaluating if this is the right play before he says, “I’d be lying.”

Tyler shakes her head, refusing to believe it. “Jamie-”

His inhale feels like it sucks all the air from the room and all words turn to ash in her mouth. “I can tell you that, if that’s what you want. But it would be a blatant lie...” _And I don’t want to lie to you_ goes entirely unsaid but heard as clear as if he had indeed spoken the words aloud.

“Then you’re contradicting yourself.”

“Not really,” he says and he looks resigned which, to be honest, is really not much better. “I’ve always wanted you. You know that. You told me that.”

“And you choose now to believe me?” she asks incredulously. “What the actual fuck?”

Jamie just shrugs, like this is something he’s seen coming miles away. He looks away and honestly, Tyler isn’t even sure what’s going on anymore. “I had to believe something. Before. I had to find something or I was going to fall into you and not know my way back out. Ever.”

She throws her arms up angrily and lets them fall against her thighs with a slap. “Why is that such a bad thing?”

His eyes are intense when he finally looks up, intense and sure and Tyler shivers despite herself. “You are it for me. Just… that’s it. If it’s not you, I don’t know who it is and fuck, Tyler, that is _terrifying_.”

And there it is again, that one sticking point: he doesn’t trust her to love him back in the same way. “You think I don’t know that? You think somehow I’m stupid enough to miss that? It’s been hell, asshole. These months without you. I know _exactly_ what it feels like to have the person you cannot stop loving _not love you back_.”

“Bullshit.” And he’s up in her face in a way he so rarely gets, confrontational and angry and backed into a corner. “You walked away. You fucking walked away, don’t you dare put it all on me.”

“You had a chance,” she spits back. “You’ve had millions and millions of chances. We fucking play together. We’re on the same line. We go to the same practices and have the same friends, you had every opportunity to prove me wrong.”

“And you wouldn’t have believed me.”

“I _missed you_ , Jamie. I would have believed anything.”

He surprises her when he brings his hand up, cups her cheeks with a tenderness that is shocking. “Exactly,” he breathes. “You would have believed anything. I couldn’t do that to you.”

“That doesn’t even make _sense_!”

He blows out a breath and can’t seem to keep his thumbs from brushing over her cheeks. “Because you’re not listening.” He surprises her again when he tips her head forward and presses his mouth to her hairline. “Tyler, you’re it for me. I’m _so_ in love with you. I’ve been in love with you for a long time, but I wasn’t going to tell you until I could believe we could make it work. That I could make it work.”

Her body goes utterly cold and still. She’s not even sure she’s breathing.

“Because I’m terrified, Tyler. I’m absolutely terrified you’re going to get bored of me. I’m terrified you’re going to feel like you can’t be yourself, that you have to fit some sort of mold that you can’t and you’ll resent me.”

“God Jamie, I-”

“You could.” He pulls back. “I’d rather stay in than go out. I hate the club scene, the bar scene. I shy away from cameras because I’m terrible in front of them and you love the attention. You do. And you thrive on it.”

“How is this anything new? I don’t need you to tell me all the stupid reasons why you think we don’t work-.”

“ _Tyler_.” He shakes her a little and she grunts, digging her nails into his hips - and when had she even reached for him? He hisses, but goes on, “I don’t want you to change. That’s exactly what I don’t want you to do.” He slides a hand around to cup the back of her skull. “I’m in love with the girl that parties, sometimes a little too hard, and curls up into me the next morning until I make her waffles.”

Tyler’s breath hitches.

“I’m in love with the woman who fills her house with people and dogs and noise but stays up until three am playing video games with me and no one else.”

Her breath shudders out again.

“I’m absolutely gone for your hockey. There’s nothing better than having you streaking up the ice with me. Nothing, Tyler. Nothing beats you tossing your feet into my lap on the couch, or sprawling next to me in a bar booth. Nothing.”

Her head drops to his shoulder and he lets her crowd into his space, warm and steady and there. It’s surreal and Tyler feels like she can’t get her head on straight. “You want me.”

“Desperately,” he breathes against her ear. “So much.”

“So much that you convinced yourself I couldn’t want you back.” She shakes her head, the cotton of his t-shirt rubbing against the skin of her forehead. “God, Sharpy was right. You’re so fucking stupid.”

“Hey!”

Tyler fists her hands in the hem of his shirt, tugs until it’s pulled taut. “I’m in love with the guy who stutters in front of the camera, who can’t say anything nice about himself, even when the team-wide scoring slump is not his fault.”

“I’m the captain-”

She presses her lips, impulsively, to his neck. He goes silent and still, like he’s afraid any movement will make her stop. She doesn’t ever want to stop. “I’m in love with the guy who will grumble and groan about picking up hangover potatoes at seven in the morning, but does it anyway because he knows I love them that much.”

His arm comes up around her back, pulling her in as close as she’ll come. She moves her mouth to the hinge of his jaw.

“I’m in love with the guy who will watch hours and hours of MasterChef Junior because he knows I love how gentle Gordon Ramsey is with kids, even when there are a million better things he’d rather watch.”

She feels him turn his face into her hair, inhale long and deep. “Tyler.”

“I’m so incredibly in love with the man who lets me curl up against him and just…sit. Who hugs me so tight when everything feels like it’s going to fall apart around me. Who always has the right thing to say when I can’t hold still, when it all feels overwhelming, and he doesn’t even know he’s doing it.”

“Fuck,” he breathes, and he’s tipping her face back until he can press his lips to hers.

There’s nothing tentative about his kiss. There’s nothing exploratory or testing. There is nothing but want and desperation. There is need in the way he grips at her body, curling his fingers into her hair that backs Tyler’s breath up in her lungs. He wraps himself around her, as close as their bodies will allow, barely giving her room to breathe as he devours her. Not that Tyler is complaining in the slightest. She gives as good as she gets, tangling her hands in his hair and pushing up against the dense weight of him.

“Tyler,” he murmurs against her mouth and moves away to nudge at her cheek so he can press a kiss under her jaw like she did to him. She tilts her head and lets out a sound that may be a whimper. She doesn’t care. She really doesn’t. This is Jamie, _her_ Jamie. And he loves her.

He _loves_ her.

The laugh bubbles up her chest. He hums into her skin and makes her shiver, even as she brings her hands up to cup his face. He raises an eyebrow.

“I love you,” she says breathlessly, because she can and because she knows that he’ll say it back. More than that she gets to see the way his face softens as he looks at her. She gets to hoard the way he leans down and kisses her again, so soft and thorough, like there’s nowhere else in the world he’d rather be, nothing he’d rather be doing.

Tyler believes it.

“I love you,” he mumbles into her mouth. “Everything about you. Tyler-“

He doesn’t finish the sentence, barely starts it beyond her name, too busy nipping at her ear and sucking a hickey at the hinge of her jaw that’s going to be a bitch to cover. Tyler doesn’t care. For once it has nothing to do with the fact that she’s utterly shameless. She wants his marks, bruises and hickeys all over because they’re from him. A reminder come morning that she’s not dreaming.

She wants bruises and the ache between her thighs. She wants to wake up next to him and blow him awake and hear him moan and curse at her even as he threads a hand through her hair. She wants to drag him into the shower, press her cheek to the wall and let him fuck into her until she can’t breathe with it. She wants to sit on the couch with him back in Dallas and swing a leg over his hips, sit on his cock and ride him, slow and steady and so she feels every fucking inch of what she is pretty sure is going to be his healthy size, given what she’s seen in the locker room and what she can feel pressed against her stomach.

She wants more, of course. She wants to toss her arms around him after one of his filthy goals and to press her lips to his until neither of them can breathe. She wants to sit at the bar and watch him make breakfast, distracting him every once in a while with her mouth or her hands, or maybe even by stripping off her shirt because she can. She wants runs with him and Cash and Marshall and summer holidays in Victoria and Toronto.

She wants the playoffs and a Cup.

She wants everything.

But, she thinks as she arches her neck for him, grinning so wide and so happy towards the ceiling: priorities.

 

British Columbia is crisp and cool in the summer evenings, but they’ve got the campfire roaring and she’s bundled into a sweatshirt she very unashamedly stole from Jamie before heading to Carey’s ranch for a weekend, and she’s… happy. She’s beyond happy actually.

“Oh my god, can you not? You’re leaking emotions all over the place,” Ryan gripes, nudging Tyler violently.

Tyler laughs and holds her beer out over the grass to keep it from leaking over her leggings. “Please, like you weren’t a giant continual ray of sunshine after popping the question.”

Ryan snorts. “I didn’t have the best year. God. We just barely squeaked out of last this time around.”

Dylan raises her beer across the circle. “You can thank Marns for that.” Dylan’s a good kid. Tyler likes Dylan more and more the more time they spend together.

Ryan tips bottle back in acknowledgement. “But seriously, eh? You couldn’t keep it to just one ring?”

Honestly, Tyler’s body still aches in weird places from the playoffs, the final push and somehow, somewhere, the benevolence of the hockey gods giving her the opportunity to lift the Cup again. Not to mention the way her ribs still sting a little from her ensuing tattoo. Tyler grins. “I’m pretty sure you were the one that pointed out when I want something, I go after it until I get it.”

“Nope, that was me,” Carey pipes up from across the circle. “But I’m with Ryan, this is not even close to what I meant.”

“Not that we’re not proud of you,” Sid says very deliberately and Tyler’s pretty sure it’s Mal, of all people, that throws the beer cap across the fire at her.

“Don’t even bother,” Steph agrees, turning from where she’d been watching the stars. “She knows we all hate her right now.”

Tyler acknowledges the point with a nod and a shrug. Then she shakes her head. “I can’t...“ She looks up, around the circle at all of the faces of the women she adores, the way they’re waiting patent and listening. “It’s still surreal,” she goes on quietly. “It’s…it feels like it should happen to someone else.”

“Fuck you,” Mike says cheerfully and chucks a marshmallow at her. Dylan squawks in protest and mutters something about wasting a good s’more. “It’s not like we weren’t all cheering for you.”

It had been more than that. It had been Ryan and Jack putting aside their own disappointments to fly to Dallas for that final game. It had been seeing her sisters, Jamie’s family, her mom, all up there in the stands. It had been Jamie’s face when he’d lifted the Cup, the way he hadn’t even turned to Sharpy or Rous, or even Jordie when he was done his lap, but to her.

“It’s not about deserving,” Tyler remembers Sid saying, almost exactly a year ago in a post-game interview. “It’s about earning. We earned our way here, and we earned that Cup.”

“We earned it,” she murmurs even though the conversation has moved on. Ryan’s head comes around to blink at her. “I earned it.”

“Earned what?” Ryan asks.

“This,” Tyler answers. “All of this. Everything.”

Ryan’s grin is almost as bright as Tyler’s, like she’s so proud and so happy, despite the fact that Tyler’s sporting not one, but two significant rings this summer. “Fucking right you did.”

Yeah. Fucking right.

**Author's Note:**

> Want to scream with us about these dorks and the myriad of others we can't stop loving? Come talk to us on Tumblr: [wonthetrade](wonthetrade.tumblr.com)


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